


To Build A Home

by GirlInRedDress



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Fili, Canon-Typical Violence, Disability, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mental Health Issues, Serious Injuries, slight slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3513353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlInRedDress/pseuds/GirlInRedDress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long and arduous quest, Thorin Oakenshield finally got his home back. It almost cost him the life of his hobbit, but his family and friends all survived – yet Thorin could not find peace.</p>
<p>He did not feel at home, and he felt ungrateful for it. Erebor just wasn’t what he remembered. It wasn’t the grand kingdom he had grown up in, and he couldn’t help feeling underwhelmed. How could he tell his Company that the Mountain they had fought so hard for wasn’t really what he wanted? How could he tell his hobbit that the home he had almost died to give Thorin made the king feel trapped and alone?</p>
<p>He couldn’t.</p>
<p>
  <b>ON HIATUS</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Aftermath of The Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is the result of me listening to the song 'To Build A Home' by Cinematic Orchestra far too many times.  
> I know that it starts out kind of sucky for Thorin's company, but I promise that things will get better. Try not to hate me too much!

Thorin Oakenshield’s entire world had stopped the moment Bilbo had pushed him aside. He’d been fighting the pale orc, blocking each blow with something akin to ease when the hobbit had shoved him sharply to the side.

The king lost his balance easily, having been so absorbed in his fight with the orc that had killed his grandfather that he hadn’t seen the burglar arrive on the scene – much less spotted him approaching. He fell into an easy roll, rolling to the side and back onto his feet in time to hear a strangled sound of pain. He stilled, his sword readied in case Azog approached, knowing that voice all too well. He turned his head a fraction to glance in the direction of the noise without putting his back to his enemy and his stomach dropped violently.

Kneeling only a metre or so away was Bilbo, one hand cupping his neck – with an arrow shaft poking from between his fingers. Hot, red liquid was seeping through the gaps in his grip and he swayed unsteadily before falling to one side. Thankfully the side he landed on was not the side he had been shot on, as the force would surely have driven the arrowhead further into his throat and killed him outright.

“ _Bilbo_!” Thorin cried, resuming the fight with newfound vigour. It felt like a lifetime had passed in the time it had taken Bilbo to be shot and fall to the floor, though it had only been seconds. Not even long enough for Azog to take the upper hand from the dwarven ruler. He threw himself into the orc, not even caring when a jagged blade scraped his side as he forced his sword deep into his enemy’s chest. He gritted his teeth at the pain over the side of his ribcage, staring into the pale orc’s eyes as he floundered and gasped against the king.

Thorin wished that he could take some kind of joy in the defeat of his longest standing foe, but no such jubilation came to him as he planted his foot on Azog’s chest and kicked him off of Orcist.

Bilbo was hurt. Seriously hurt - maybe even _dying_.

This was no time for celebration. A shadow swept over him as he turned back towards Bilbo, his sword at the ready in case any more orcs dared to come between him and his burglar. He glanced upwards, exhaling in a hiss but smiling grimly when he spotted the eagles overheard. Their caws rang across the battle field as they drove away the last of the enemies, sending most of the remaining orcs running – and throwing any who dared stay to their deaths. With Azog and Bolg both dead they had little reason to fight, so the majority of them fled.

The eldest Durin sheathed his sword, running to where Bilbo was bleeding and wheezing in the mud. “ _Bilbo_ …” He breathed, his voice high with panic as he slipped both of his arms under the hobbit – still ignoring the sharp ache in his own side. He lifted his friend easily, beginning to run with purpose towards the green tents outside of Erebor’s front gate. Survivors were already filing in that direction, patting each other’s shoulders and talking softly amongst themselves.

There were no joyous shouts, despite the victory.

Too many had fallen for that.

It was Azanulbizar all over again… Except this time, it wasn’t his little brother bleeding out in his arms. It was one of his best friends.

_Why_ did this keep happening to him?

“T-Tho-rin…” Bilbo gurgled, coughing harshly before whimpering at the way the action pulled on his wound. “I… I couldn’t see you killed… I know tha-hahhh… That you… Asked me to go… But I could-dn’t leave… Not when it meant ne-ever knowing if… An-y of you… Survived this…” He spluttered, his scarily vacant green eyes staring blearily into Thorin’s face. “I’m sorry…”

“Bilbo, hush.” The king encouraged, frowning hard at the burglar’s stuttered apologies. That wouldn’t do. Bilbo had nothing to be sorry for, he had just saved the king’s life _again_. Arguably for a third time. The first time had been from Azog, the second time had been from Thorin himself… And now the third time he had saved Thorin from an unknown orc archer – who must have been taken care of by somebody else or fled from the fray. “You are not the one who needs to apologise. I am so sorry, to have lead you into such perils… And if this is the only chance I have to say this – I would like to take back my words and my deeds from the gate. You were trying to save me, and I was too blind to see… Forgive me, _please_.” He whispered raggedly, his own breathing becoming unsteady with emotion as he ran for the tents. There would be healers there – there had to be. Someone had to be there to save his hobbit. Bilbo couldn’t die this way. Couldn’t die for _him_. “You would die for me, even after how I treated you… You are truly an honourable creature, and a greater friend then I deserve.” He conceded, his head whipping round so fast that it clicked uncomfortably when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Thorin! Is Bilbo okay?” His physician called over the mounting noise, ignoring the distressed cries of those who had no doubt lost people in the battle. Oin had seen Thorin running with Bilbo in his arms and rightly assumed the worst.

Thorin turned towards him as they reached the mouth of the royal tent – which must have been hastily erected in the time it had taken the king to run from one end of the battle field to the other. “He took an arrow to the throat- one meant for my own heart. I didn’t see the archer, but Bilbo… He must have clocked him, and he pushed me aside before I even realised what was happening.” He explained, stepping into the tent. He was met with the sight of Dori and his brothers all covered in blood – assembling cots and arranging crates in the small space. It looked as though none of them were injured, so the blood must not be their own. Thorin gently laid Bilbo down in one of the already erected cots, staring down into the hobbit’s distant expression with clear concern. He stepped to the side to allow Oin to reach Bilbo’s wound, his eyes fixed on the burglar’s face all the while.

Bilbo’s eyelids drooped considerably, but his gaze followed Thorin as he moved away. He released his death grip from his neck with some gentle prompting from Oin’s deft fingers and instead reached his bloody hand out to the king. “Thorin…?” He appealed, his voice still thin and reedy with pain. The long-haired dwarf was mildly impressed that the hobbit was dealing with what was happening with such ease – he didn’t seem freaked out or frightened in the least.

The royal dwarf reached out with both hands, sealing them over Bilbo’s bloodied appendage. His burglar’s blood was tacky against his skin, but he didn’t let that bother him. It didn’t matter – though it did remind him of a very similar situation.

Of holding Frerin’s hand as the life had seeped from his young body.

“I’m here, Bilbo… Oin is going to fix you, you’re going to be fine.” He promised insincerely, though it sounded genuine enough. He wanted Bilbo to live, he didn’t want him to die. He couldn’t lose anyone else in his life, especially not under the circumstances.

He couldn’t live knowing that Bilbo had died on his behalf, but he was a warrior and he was resigned to the fact that Bilbo may just die regardless.

“Thorin… Thorin, I am glad to have… Sh-ared your perils with you. Each and every… Each and every one of them. This adventure… Was far more than any Baggins or any hobbit deserves. I am… _Honoured_ to have served you.” The hobbit avowed, a tired smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. The smile was enough to break Thorin’s heart, and despite how much he wanted to look away he held Bilbo’s gaze. This was no time to prioritise his own emotions, this was a time to keep Bilbo calm and comfortable. There were tears in the burglar’s eyes, but no regret. No sorrow. If anything, he only looked relieved.

“Do not say that like it is a goodbye, my burglar… This is _not_ goodbye. You will live… You’re far too stubborn to die this way, we both know that.” Thorin insisted, squeezing the hand between his own and smiling sadly. “You’re going to go back to your books, and your armchair… You’re going to plant your trees and you are going to watch them grow.” He persisted, though his own eyes were beginning to sting. He could hear the Ri brothers talking frantically amongst themselves, though he paid no mind to what they were saying. There were more pressing matters at hand. “You are going to grow old, living out the rest of your life surrounded by the things you love.”

“Thorin, could you hold him down? I need to remove the arrowhead to stitch the wound and repair any damage that it’s done… But he’s going to thrash something fierce.” Oin asked, having been busying himself with retrieving salves, bandages, surgical thread and a needle – all of which were spread out on a crate beside the cot. Thorin nodded, leaning over Bilbo and gently pining his hands to the bed so that he couldn’t interfere with Oin’s work. “Nori, you’ve a steady hand, can you try to hold Bilbo’s head still…?” The elderly dwarf called over his shoulder, and though Thorin didn’t hear the reply he saw Nori step over to the cot and press his hands into the hobbits hair to hold his head to the bed.

“I’ve left so much left unsaid…” Bilbo muttered thickly, his eyes still trained on the king despite the other dwarves crowding the cot. Dori had joined them, standing with his hand on the middle Ri brother’s shoulder in support. This was going to be distressing for them all, which was no doubt why Ori had left the tent.

“It matters not; we can talk when you are better.” Thorin said, rubbing his thumbs soothingly into Bilbo’s hands as he held them. “There’s still time.”

Bilbo opened his mouth as if to speak, though nothing but an agonised scream left his lips as Oin chose that moment to work the arrow out of the small hobbit’s throat. The brunet wailed in pain, his eyes rolling a little and his back arching. Removing the arrow took a little more work than Oin had anticipated, and Bilbo voiced his discomfort loudly until a surge of crimson blood marked the moment the arrow head was free of his body. Thorin had to avert his eyes to avoid the agony in Bilbo’s, squeezing his own eyes shut to hold back the hot tears that threatened to escape them.

The dark-haired dwarf opened his eyes as Bilbo fell silent, blinking and turning his head to regard the injured Halfling. He had fallen unconscious from the sheer pain, his weak body no doubt overwhelmed by the severity of its wounds. “Will he wake again soon…?” He wondered aloud, slowly withdrawing his hands from the slack appendages on the bed.

“No… Go check on your kin, Thorin. Make sure that everyone is well.” Oin suggested, pressing a wad of cloth against the wound and applying pressure as Nori helpfully threaded his needle for him.

“I… I do not want him to die whilst I am gone.” The king confessed quietly, nervous about leaving. He would not forgive himself if Bilbo died, especially not if it happened whilst Thorin was wandering the tents searching for dwarves who _could_ be perfectly fine.

“You think I would _let_ him?” Their physician asked, and if it wasn’t for his grim expression Thorin would have suspected him of condescension. “He will not die on my watch. I will not allow it.” The white-haired dwarf disseminated, looking deadly serious about that. Thorin bowed his head in recognition, but cast Nori and Dori a concerned glance as he stepped away from the cot.

Oin was upset, he could tell. Nori and Dori both looked pale and unhappy, their own expressions conveying that they were feeling similarly. No one wanted to see Bilbo die – and Thorin supposed that he could not leave the hobbit in safer hands.

He had to check on his nephews and friends, _had_ to know that they too had survived. What would be the point in waiting for Bilbo to live or die if any of his kin died in another tent, without his knowledge?

He exited the tent, not bothering to clean his hands of his burglar’s drying blood as he walked to the next tent. He glanced into the open door, seeing three dwarves whom he did not know being healed. Dain’s men, he suspected. As he walked to the next tent his cousin appeared, no doubt moving through to check on his own friends. “Thorin! Your nephews are two tents down.” He offered helpfully, gesturing to one of the larger tents further down the row. “Have any of your Company fallen?”

“…Bilbo is in a very bad way. Dori, Nori, Ori and Oin all live, though I don’t know about any of the others.” Thorin imparted, patting Dain absent-mindedly before stepping around him and walking towards the tent that apparently housed his nephews. “I am glad you are well.” He called over his shoulder as he went, genuinely glad that at least one member of his family had survived. Dain was barely even scratched, but he always had been a sturdy dwarf. More so than most.

He paused for a moment beside the tent that he had been directed to, swallowing thickly. His chest was aching hollowly, like he had already lost someone. He knew that Bilbo wasn’t dead yet, but he didn’t have much hope on that front and he had no idea whatsoever if his nephews had survived. Dain hadn’t _seemed_ especially despaired – but why _would_ he? He’d never properly met Fili or Kili. If they had died it would be no cause of pain for the red-haired leader. He mentally prepared himself for the worst, startling when he stepped in and was met with the sight of a good few Elven healers – as well as the Prince of the Mirkwood himself.

Was this a trick?

He moved forwards cautiously, the ache in his chest easing ever so slightly when he caught sight of Fili sat up in a cot. There were no elves beside him, the majority of them crowding around the other bed.

“Uncle…” The blond breathed, though his usual youthful cheeriness was nowhere to be seen in his features as he levelled his gaze with his mother’s brother. “Thank Mahal that you are alive… How is everyone?”

“Bilbo is…” His uncle sighed, wrinkling his nose and glancing to the elves at the other side of the tent. “…he is badly hurt. He took an arrow to the throat. The Ri brothers and Oin are all alive, though I know not of anyone else.” He shared, spinning around on the spot when a distressed cry that was far too similar sounded from the other bed. “Kili?!” He guessed, casting a look to his eldest nephew before pushing his way through the elves. A redhead and Thranduil’s son were closest to the bed – watching as a male healer took a saw to his youngest heir’s forearm. Kili’s lower arm was mangled beyond repair and he whimpered as the flame-haired elf stroked his hair and grimaced fiercely for him. Legolas watched with no clear compassion in his eyes, his mouth set in an impassive line.

Both of his nephews were alive – though not unharmed.

“Kili, I’m here…” Thorin reassured the young dwarf, falling onto one knee beside the cot and taking his sister-son’s uninjured hand in his own.

“Uncle… Uncle, they’re going to take my sword arm…” Kili uttered woozily, something in his eyes telling Thorin that he had been drugged to ease his pain.

“It looks as though that is for the best…” The king admitted, turning his attention to the mangled limb in question. There was no doubt that it could not be saved – it was beyond even what an elf could heal. “…you were always better with a bow anyway, and we can train you with a crossbow… Or construct a prosthetic that will be able to work a regular bow.” He assured his nephew with a world-worn smile, squeezing his hand. He looked up to Legolas, frowning. “Not that I am complaining when you are aiding my kin, but why are you here?”

“Tauriel and I saved your youngest… We found him as Bolg bore down on him.” The elven prince shared, his voice level and carefully neutral. “I asked my father to lend your people our healers… He was not happy, but he allowed it.”

“Thank you… You are truly honourable, and I am in your debt.” Thorin admitted with a dip of his head, too tired to try and argue with the elf – especially since he _apparently_ meant no harm. “Could an elven healer be sent to the royal tent? A member of my party has been felled with an arrow to the throat – but Oin thinks he might yet live. Any additional expertise would be appreciated and repaid tenfold.” He promised, meeting the cool blue eyes of his unlikely ally. Legolas bowed his head in agreement before calling out in elven. At his words two healers filtered away, leaving Kili with three tending to him. The youngest Durin wailed as the saw bit deeply into his flesh, but his wide eyes fell on his uncle.

“Who… Who took an arrow to the throat?” He asked weakly, clearly having been listening to the conversation.

“Bilbo did… The arrow was meant for my heart, but he put himself in its path. He saved my life.” Thorin said tiredly, stroking Kili’s hand firmly in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

“Thorin! Dain told me that you were here.” Dwalin bellowed as he strode into the tent. He looked unsurprised by the situation that the princes were in, leading Thorin to believe that he had already known. He must have visited their tent already.

“Dwalin, I am glad to see that you are alive… Do you know what happened to the rest of the company?” The king breathed as Dwalin fell down beside him and bumped their foreheads together affectionately.

“No casualties that I know. My brother broke his wrist and Bombur took a stab to the thigh, but there are no other serious injuries to report – other than the boys, of course. Bofur, Bifur and Gloin are all well. Fili has taken quite the knock to the head, but he’s fine… Obviously you know of Kili’s predicament.” His best friend shared, grimacing as the wholly unpleasant sound of sawing ceased and a solemn looking elf moved away with something wrapped in a cloth. Glancing to Kili confirmed Thorin’s suspicions that the bundle was his nephew’s hand and forearm, as he was now missing most of his arm below the elbow. “I spotted Ori on my way here, looking rather green, but I did not see either of his brothers with him. Gloin also assures me that Oin is fine, though I have not seen him myself. And no one I have spoken to has seen Bilbo.”

“Uncle…” Kili breathed before Thorin could answer Dwalin, drawing the king’s attention to him as his stump was sewn closed. “…is Bilbo going to die?”

An empty feeling made itself at home in the king’s chest, reminding him just how close he was to losing the hobbit. His friend. His Bilbo… “I don’t know, Kili. It’s quite possible, I suppose.” He choked a little on his own words, frowning and clearing his throat as he turned his gaze to Legolas – who was still watching with cool detachment. “Can my nephews both be moved to the royal tent when they are stable? I would like them close.” He asked, not wanting to have to flit between his nephews and his burglar. Whilst Fili and Kili were both perfectly safe he wasn’t sure he could stand to be apart from them when they were both so weak, and he certainly couldn’t leave Bilbo alone. Who else would watch over him?

Thorin doubted that anyone would care more than he would if they lost the hobbit.

“The eldest is safe to be moved now, though he should be carried. He needs a lot of rest, and the walk will do him no good if he attempts it himself.” The elven prince informed him, leading Thorin to nod and stand. “As for the youngest, he can be moved as soon as we finish with his arm.”

“Thank you… I will carry Fili, please bring Kili as soon as he is ready.” The king hummed, reaching out to pat Kili’s shoulder supportively.

“I would suggest the other dwarf carries your heir, as carrying him will put a lot of pressure on your own wound.” Legolas called as Thorin moved to the other cot, stopping him in his tracks.

“My wound-?” He denoted, looking confused. He blinked, raising a hand to his ribs and feeling moisture there. He’d completely forgotten about the wound Azog had inflicted upon him during his death-throes.

“The lad’s right, Thorin. You’re bleeding.” Dwalin pointed out unhelpfully, stepping around the king and scooping a grumbling Fili into his arms.

“I am not a child-” The blond dwarf complained loudly, though he fisted his hand around a piece of Dwalin’s armour to hold himself steady.

“Aye, that’s true, but you are injured.” The balding warrior chuckled mirthlessly, gesturing for Thorin to lead the way out. The king cast one last look back at Kili and the elves that surrounded him, offering the youngest dwarf a dip of his head before leaving. He kept one hand over his own lesion, feeling the edges of it with tentative fingers. He could barely feel it any longer, though he took that to mean that he had gone into shock. It was still bleeding, and though it hadn’t hit anything vital it would probably need a few stitches to heal correctly. It _should_ have been hurting fiercely.

“What was Kili talking about, Thorin? When he asked about Bilbo?” Dwalin asked as they walked, his expression troubled. Fili glanced from his uncle to the warrior carrying him, looking a little uncomfortable.

Thorin sighed deeply, pressing one hand firmly over his wound to prevent any more bleeding. “He is seriously hurt… You will see when we reach the royal tent.” He murmured, sick and tired of explaining it – over and over.

Thankfully Dwalin did not press the matter any further, and they continued walking to the tent in silence.

The king let himself back in, holding the flap open for Dwalin and Fili but recoiling when he found the tent almost full. Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, two elven healers, Gandalf, Bard and Thranduil were all crowded around Bilbo’s cot. Oin bee-lined for the king immediately, obviously _seething_. “Thorin! Those elves have undone my work…! I had Bilbo stitched and bandaged when they arrived, but they insisted upon removing the bandages to look him over themselves, like I am some incompetent dwarfling pretending to be a healer!” He accused, looking thoroughly ruffled.

The dark-haired dwarf wasn’t sure what to say, especially since he had asked for the elves’ help himself. He needed to calm Oin, and maybe give him something else to do. “Oin, Kili has had part of his arm amputated.” He exposed in an undertone, watching as the older dwarf’s eyes widened. “Would you mind going to his tent and making sure that they do not remove more than is needed? If Bilbo no longer needs you, could you also check that the amputation was indeed necessary? It would put my worried mind at ease.” He entreated softly, despite the fact that he had seen the arm himself. He knew that there had been no saving it, but he also knew that asking such a thing of Oin would make him feel valued and derail his anger towards Bilbo’s carers. The elderly physician bowed his head in agreement, patting Thorin’s back with a large hand.

“I can do that much for you, _thanu men_. As for Bilbo… I have done my best for him, only time will tell if he can survive this. If he makes it through the night his chances will be much higher than they are right now. All we can do is keep him hydrated, medicated and comfortable.” Oin grieved, looking saddened. Thorin bobbed his head in a large nod, having not expected better news. When his friend had left he turned his attention to Bilbo’s cot, seeing that Dori, Nori and Ori had all left it in favour of seeing Fili where Dwalin had settled him in a cot at the other side of the tent.

“What are you all doing here?” Thorin exacted unhappily, his eyes meeting Thranduil’s as he strode over to the injured Halfling.

“One of my healers informed me that the hobbit who bravely bargained for cooperation between our armies was fatally injured.” The king of the elves imparted, gesturing to the healer in question who was currently spreading a nasty smelling paste over Bilbo’s angrily puckered stitches. “I came to pay my respects and pray to Eru for his survival.”

“Why would you show him such kindness?” The dwarven king snapped, sitting on the edge of Bilbo’s cot and taking one of the hobbit’s limp hands. “I wasn’t aware that you cared for anyone who wasn’t an elf.”

“And yet I am allowing my healers to care for your kind and this hobbit.” Thranduil drawled, sounding almost amused by Thorin’s accusations. “I care because he is a better diplomat than you will ever be. If he had not come to me before the battle I do not doubt that you would have stayed in those halls and left us to fight your cousin.” He indicated, though his gaze left Thorin’s to look down at the hobbit. “It would truly be a shame if Erebor lost him, as he is the only one who resides there who possesses any common sense.”

“You do not _know_ that I would not have joined the fray. As for Bilbo being an incredible diplomat, I will not deny that – but I will tell you that if he survives it is likely that he will return to his own home to the West.” Thorin hissed, angered by the disrespectful way that Thranduil spoke to him. “He never intended to stay with us.”

“I would not be so sure of that, Thorin. I believe that Bilbo would stay, if you asked him to.” Gandalf interrupted, puffing away at his pipe. He was looking a little worse for wear, his robes blood stained and his hair in disarray. He did not appear to be injured, however.

“Then I will not ask him to. He belongs in his comfortable home in the Shire, where he will be safe.” The dwarven ruler dismissed easily, stroking his thumb along the hand in his own. “I will escort him back myself, as I will need to retrieve my sister from the Blue Mountains after the winter passes.”

“King Thranduil and I should like to return the Arkenstone to you, King Thorin.” Bard said when the silence stretched, looking uncomfortable where he stood between the wizard and the king of the elves. “We were discussing doing so when an elven healer informed the two of us of your burglar’s condition.”

“ _Bilbo Baggins_ ’ condition.” Thorin corrected, not wanting to sully the hobbit’s name. Whilst it was true that he had been hired as a burglar, he was much more important than that. He had done so much more than he had needed to, and the Company had all grown very fond of him in the process. “If this is the case, why does _King_ Thranduil insult me over the body of one of my dearest friends?” He wondered bitterly, fixing the new ruler of the local Men with a hard stare.

“We have all lost people today, King Thorin. Everyone is a little on edge because of this, I’m sure you can understand that.” Bard proposed, gesturing to Bilbo’s unconscious form. “We are sorry that your companion is in such a way, truly we are. We would not have come if we were not.” He levelled, acting as the peace-keeper of the group. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a large object wrapped in cloth. Thorin didn’t need to see it to know that it was the Arkenstone. He held it out to the dwarf, frowning when Thorin took it but threw it to the side with little care for if the action damaged it.

The dwarven king could not care less about his family’s treasure at that moment, nor did he feel any pull to it like he had done in the mountain before.

The Arkenstone hardly mattered when his Bilbo was so close to death. Especially since Thorin assumed that Bilbo had fought and almost died as an apology for taking the jewel in the first place. It was not worth the hobbit’s life. “Thank you, Bard. I appreciate the sentiment, though I cannot honestly say that I am happy to see it returned. Not when it very almost cost me my sanity and my Company.” He confessed, raising one hand to smooth his hobbit’s wayward hair away from his face.

He thought he saw Gandalf nod his approval and smile, though he did not question or acknowledge the gesture.

He had other things on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this fic so far! Any and all feedback is appreciated, as this is only my second Hobbit fic in the works.  
> If you would like to ask me anything, or keep track of any news for this fic I will be posting regularly about it's progress on my tumblr sad-little-acorn.tumblr.com :)
> 
> I use http://www.meryrose.altervista.org/html/modules.php?name=Khuzdul as a reference for my Khuzdul and http://www.dragons-inn.org/Ifreann/Tynntangial/eng_elf.html as a reference for Elven.
> 
>  _Thanu men_ \- My King


	2. Quiet Confessions

That night was perhaps the worst night of Thorin’s life.

Kili was moved into the royal tent late in the afternoon and ate with his brother, both of them sat up in their cots. They’d offered their uncle some food, but Thorin had just felt too _sick_ to eat. He’d blamed it on the herbal concoction Oin had made him eat to combat any signs of infection in his wound whilst it was stitched, but he knew it wasn’t that.

He sat up for hours after Fili and Kili had both fallen asleep, troubled. His lack of sleep and absent appetite was not caused by his injuries, or even by Oin’s treatment of them, it was caused by Bilbo. He knew it was. Oin had made the mistake of telling the king that if the hobbit lasted the night he would probably survive his injury, as the first night would be crucial, and Thorin could not sleep through fear of Bilbo slipping away from him in the night without him noticing. If Bilbo died it would be Thorin’s fault entirely, and if he died cold and alone in that god-forsaken tent Thorin would never forgive himself.

If Bilbo was going to die it was going to be with at least one good friend at his side, there to mourn his passing should the worst happen.

The tent was almost pitch-black, as Thorin had extinguished the only lantern for the sake of his nephews resting but as was the way with most dwarves he saw very well in the dark – his eyes tracing his burglar’s slack face as he _rested_. His breathing was a little uneven and he was laying on his back facing upwards – having to stay in that position because of the awkward brace that Oin had put on him to hold his neck still. It would prevent the wound from reopening if Bilbo tossed whilst he was unconscious. He looked so small and frail, his plump lips parted as he inhaled raggedly through them. For perhaps the first time in his life Thorin felt _truly_ powerless, hanging his head with the weight of his own despair.

“Oh _Mahal_ …” He sighed, burying his face in his hands and exhaling hard. “…what am I going to do without my hobbit?” He murmured to himself, glad that no one was present to witness his weakness. Or not conscious to, at least. He could hear the deep, even breathing of his nephews somewhere behind him. At least the two of them were safe, which was a blessing in and of itself. “If I am the death of you, Bilbo Baggins, I will _never_ forgive myself… What were you thinking, pushing me aside? After all I said and did to you, you would still die for me… I wish that it had not taken _that_ to show me just how loyal you are.” He mourned in an undertone, rubbing a hand roughly through his cropped facial hair. His chest ached sharply at the thought, leading him to sigh shakily again and place a hand over his heart through his cotton tunic. “That arrow was meant for me… I would have deserved it, too.”

A sleepy blond head rose from one of the cots, regarding his uncle and listening closely. Fili had the common sense not to interrupt and dispute the king, knowing that this would be therapeutic for the older dwarf. Thorin so rarely spoke of his feelings, Fili wasn’t going to prevent him from opening up. He lowered himself back into his itchy sheets, careful to be quiet as he rolled over to face his brother again and tried respectfully to tune out his uncle’s emotional words.

“You should have left when I banished you. Whilst I _do_ regret banishing you, if you had gone then… You would have been spared. You wouldn’t be here, quite possibly dying for a dwarf who doesn’t deserve your time or your concern… Much less your unfaltering loyalty.” Thorin continued, oblivious to his eldest nephew hanging off of his every word.

Ignoring them wasn’t quite as easy as Fili had hoped.

“I might have died in your place… But honestly? I would have preferred that. Fili will make a great king, and whilst he might be young he’d still have Balin and his mother as his council. They would see him through it just fine…” The eldest Durin mumbled, his eyes beginning to sting. His chest heaved and a shallow sob escaped him before he could fight it back.

“I would never willingly have you die for me, I hope you know that. I never wanted you to die, not even on that _blasted_ rampart. If you were awake now to hear this, I know you would scoff at me, but it’s the truth. I was not angry that you had taken the Arkenstone, I was angry that I had trusted you so much that I had not even considered that you might have been the one keeping it from me. Having that much faith in you made me feel weak. I was angry at myself because I valued you so much more than that stone and you managed to take it from under my nose to give it to the Elven king rather than me. _Thranduil_ , Bilbo, of all people? Do you know what that did to me?” He vented, gushing whilst under the impression that no one could hear him. Saying it all aloud helped, it took a weight from his mind. “I did not lie when I said I understood why you did it. I do. I am _eternally_ grateful to you for saving me and my company from my own foolish pride, but nobody understands where my hurt truly came from. That the Arkenstone was gone was not my grievance, that _you_ took it was. You had so little faith in me to find my way out of what I had done, _justifiably_ I will admit, and that hurt. That was why I became so enraged… Why I held you over the rampart. I had no intention of killing you, I only meant to scare some sense into you… To show you the true magnitude of what you had done. I realise that might have been the wrong way to go about doing so, but in all honesty if anyone but a friend of mine had done the same I would have thrown them from that rampart without giving them the chance to explain themselves. I only showed you as much compassion because I care so deeply for you…” He confessed, so engrossed in his own mutterings that he did not even pick up on the sound of Fili sitting up.

The blond prince was completely gob-smacked, unsure of whether or not to speak up now. To tell the eldest Durin that what he was feeling was perfectly valid – and that he should not be confessing this to an unconscious hobbit. That he should be talking this out with his family, who would tell him that none of this made him a bad person. Thorin undoubtedly _did_ think that he was a bad person after what he had done, and whilst Fili thought that hanging Bilbo over the Rampart was entirely unnecessary he could see where the older dwarf was coming from.

He had been sick and known no other way to express himself.

Everything made so much more sense as Thorin said it aloud, but Fili still held his tongue. How would Thorin react to knowing he had eavesdropped? Probably angrily. It might make him close up further.

“I truly hope that Mahal will have mercy on my soul and will not take you from me, _amrâlimê_ …” Thorin whimpered into his hands, before dissolving into silent sobs. The only sign that he was indeed crying was his frequent and sharp inhales, his shoulders heaving with each one. Fili watched for a long moment, frowning. He definitely couldn’t speak up after that. Thorin had called Bilbo his love, and that in itself was incredibly intimate. Personal. The heir of Erebor shouldn’t have heard such a thing, and he intended to pretend that he hadn’t.

He shouldn’t have listened.

-

“The least injured of Dain’s men have begun clearing out and preparing rooms in the Mountain, Thorin.” Balin informed the ruler of Erebor as he swept into the royal tent, shaking himself free of snow near the entrance. He seemed completely unbothered by the heavy cast on his right arm, considerably more cheerful than someone who was injured should have been. Thorin found that his nephews were quite the same in that respect, much less sombre than they should have been. He supposed they were all just glad to be alive.

The king nodded from where he was sat up on a cot, looking over several piles of parchment, glancing up only briefly to take in the sight of his trusted advisor. It had been a long few days since the battle of the five armies, but Thorin felt no need to venture into the mountain himself.

Not yet.

It held too many dark memories, and Bilbo still could not be moved. He wouldn’t leave Bilbo alone, not when his future was still so uncertain. The hobbit had not woken for much longer than a few minutes at a time over the last four days, but that he had not yet succumbed to his injuries was a very good sign. Or so Oin said, though the hobbit’s almost constant lack of consciousness troubled Thorin deeply no matter how many times that his dwarven healer reassured him that their burglar was coping quite well.

Balin walked over to the king when his warm tunic was free of the snow that laid thickly outside, sitting down beside him on the uncomfortable looking cot. “You should come inside, Thorin. Winter is creeping up on us and sleeping out here cannot be comfortable. Not to mention Dain is wondering when we will hold a coronation ceremony for you, to officially crown you.” He attempted to suggest, only for the dark-haired dwarf to shake his head and glance to the cot so close to his own that he could reach out and touch its occupant – which he sometimes did when his nephews were resting. Bilbo was almost completely still beside them, the only indication that he was even alive being the soft rise and fall of his chest.

“Not until Bilbo can be moved. I won’t leave him out here alone. He and I have much to discuss when he is coherent enough to hold a conversation.” Thorin dictated, leaving no room for arguments. Not that Balin wouldn’t try, of course. The meddling old coot.

“ _Thanu men_ …” The elderly dwarf rumbled, looking weary.

“I will not budge on the matter, Balin. Continue to bring me news and any paper work I must do, but accept that I am not leaving this tent for any extended period of time when our hobbit is still so weak.” Thorin concluded, shifting the parchments that he’d been reading. Most of it was regarding deals with Bard the Bowman to rebuild Dale, but there was one set of papers regarding a treaty with the elves that made him so mad he’d had to remove them from his sight until he was of a sounder mind.

He was immensely grateful for their help, and their healers still walked among the wounded assisting in any way they could, but he would never stop hating Thranduil. Especially not considering some of the barbed comments exchanged between the two rulers regarding Bilbo in the days since the battle.

“If you have things to attend to, Uncle, Kili and I can watch him.” Fili offered from where he was eating stew in his own cot. His head was still bandaged but he was feeling much better, his dizziness having subsided considerably in the last twenty-four hours. Kili didn’t really need to stay in a healing tent like Fili and Bilbo did, Fili had been advised to move as little as possible due to his head wound, but he had stayed rather than leave his brother. The two had been quite clingy since the battle, but Thorin found that he couldn’t blame them. They’d both had near death experiences, and though Thorin himself had come out of the battle needing only a few stitches he knew enough of war to understand that they were both frightened of how close they had been to losing each other.

This was the first serious battle the two of them had ever fought, and they had both come out of it injured.

Something similar had happened between Dis and Thorin after Frerin had died. Thorin had almost fallen in the same fight that took their sibling and he had found himself spending more time with Dis than ever. She had been the only family he’d had at the time, since neither Fili nor Kili had been born and their parents had already been lost to them.

“I know that the two of you are more than capable of taking care of him for me, but I don’t want to leave him. I’m sure you can understand that.” The king replied almost fondly, his expression softening visibly at Fili’s considerate suggestion. The blond prince nodded, though he turned and raised an eyebrow pointedly at his brother. Kili was lounging around in the next cot over and chuckled quietly when he met his older sibling’s eyes. Clearly Thorin was missing something, but before he could ask his nephews what they were thinking Balin piped up again.

“Very well… I will continue supervising Dain and his people’s work in the mountain.” His advisor accepted, sighing quietly. “I moved the Arkenstone to your family’s tomb, as requested… Do you think Dis will bring Vili and Frerin’s remains with her when she comes to Erebor? Because if she is I can arrange for name plaques to be made for them both in the tomb.”

“I will be sending a raven to request that she brings them, yes. The two of them belong in our family crypt, their ashes should not stay in the Blue Mountains without us.” Thorin confirmed, noticing how Fili and Kili both quietened at the mention of their father. He had died when Kili and Fili were both very young, though Fili had been toddling at the time and remembered his father very vaguely. The two of them had always been interested in their father, though neither of them mourned him. He had died honourably, and that was as much as any dwarf could ask for. Neither of them knew him for long enough to miss his presence.

Dying weak and alone in a cot was not an honourable death, which was part of the reason Thorin was so adamant not to leave Bilbo alone. He would not let his burglar die this way, a mere shadow of his former self.

“Do not make preparing their plaques a priority, however. Dis will probably not arrive for another three seasons at least. She cannot leave the Blue Mountains until winter passes, and I swore to her that I would go back for her myself… Which I have already discussed with Dain. He has said that he is happy to oversee things in Erebor whilst I travel, and I expect you to supervise him then too.” He added, giving his advisor a pointed look. _Don’t let him do anything I wouldn’t do._ His cousin was a pleasant fellow for the most part, very jovial, but he could be somewhat rash when in a poor mood.

Balin bowed his head in agreement before casting an eye over the hobbit resting beside them. “Any improvements?” He asked, gesturing to Bilbo with his one good hand. Thorin’s expression turned pained and he averted his eyes to his work again, his hands shaking noticeably when he reached for another sheet of parchment.

“…Oin is confident that he will live. He woke up this morning for long enough to drink some medicinal tea and babble apologies at me. He seems to be under the impression that I still want him to leave, but he is too weak to stay awake long enough for me to explain. It will be a relief when his coherency returns to him.” He remarked tightly, visibly uncomfortable as he shifted and began fiddling with the plans for Dale.

“You still think that he’s going to die, do you not?” Balin observed, as knowledgeable as ever. He always seemed to know things he shouldn’t and whilst it annoyed Thorin to no end sometimes, which it was doing at that moment, it could also be useful.

Thorin grimaced, glancing to Bilbo quickly as if to check that he was indeed still there. “I do not want to get my hopes up.” He conceded, not wanting to say much else on the matter. What else was there to say? It was obvious enough how scared he was; he should not have to say it aloud. “I hate that every time he wakes he tries to apologise, and then proceeds to bid me farewell… It makes me worry that he knows something we do not. That he knows that he is dying.”

“How could he? He is weak, but Oin says he improves by the day… He’s disorientated, Thorin, that’s the only reason for his words. You should not take them to heart.” The older dwarf dismissed, standing and straightening his tunic. “Is there anything you need before I leave…? Any questions about the plans or the treaty that I can answer for you?”

“Yes, would declaring a war on the Elves of Mirkwood really be such a terrible idea?” Thorin quipped, though even Balin had the sense to know it was meant as a joke. His mouth curled up in a smile and he rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner, shaking his head as he walked away.

“Uncle, you cannot still hate the elves after what they have done for us!” Kili insisted loudly, clearly having missed that it was a joke. “Tauriel and Legolas saved my life.” He pointed out stubbornly, drawing a tired chuckle from the king’s advisor.

“It always comes back to the red-haired elf with you, laddie.” Balin purred almost dangerously, making the youngest dwarf splutter indignantly and turn considerably pink in the face.

“I don’t know what you mean by that!” He claimed, shooting a panicked look in his uncle’s direction. Had Thorin not been so tired he might have smiled, but he raised an eyebrow at Kili questioningly. _Is Balin wrong?_ “I… I don’t talk about her that much!” He tried to defend himself, expression full of concern.

“You do too, Kili. And you always get the _softest_ look in your eyes when you do, it’s quite disturbing.” Fili piped up playfully, grinning from ear to ear as his brother whined and swatted at him. “You must have taken more of a knock to your head than even I did, to fall for an _elf_. Maybe it’s that Orc poison from the Mirkwood?” He jested, though he kept a careful eye on Thorin.

Thorin did not react for or against the proclamation that Kili loved Tauriel, and Fili assumed that his thoughts were elsewhere. Why else would the king appear so unconcerned about it?

The truth of the matter was that Thorin would not speak against it because he too had fallen for someone who wasn’t of their race. As unheard of as it was, he could not scold Kili for loving someone who was not a dwarf when he was completely in love with their burglar himself. Even if the one Kili loved _was_ an elf. She had saved him, that was a point in her favour, and she seemed decent enough. Apparently, she had held a bow to Thranduil during the battle and the news had caused Thorin a great deal of mirth – or as much mirth as he could express in his current emotional state.

Thorin would investigate the she-elf much more thoroughly when he had less to think about, but there was too much going on for him to put much thought into the matter. Dwarves only loved once, and if Kili truly loved Tauriel then nothing he could do or say would stop it. He could only hope that Tauriel loved him back and was not just a spy for Thranduil.

It didn’t seem likely, but Thorin wouldn’t put anything past the king of the Mirkwood. He was a slimy bastard even on his best days.

“ _Ah-hh_ …” A quiet groan sounded beside him, causing Thorin to startle and send his papers flying. Balin sighed heavily at the mess, walking over and bending down to gather the parchment as carefully as he could with just the one hand.

“Nice to see you in the land of the living, laddie.” Balin called in greeting, glancing at Bilbo as the hobbit tried to sit stiffly. Thorin reached out with both hands, placing one in the centre of the hobbit’s back and bracing the other on the burglar’s shoulder to steady him.

“Kili, fetch Oin.” The king requested without even looking at the youngest Durin, his fretful eyes fixed on the injured hobbit. “How do you feel…?” He asked Bilbo directly, rubbing his hand up and down the brunet’s back soothingly.

“Like a warg’s play-thing.” The hobbit dictated in a voice that was gravelly with disuse, though a genuine smile tugged up the corners of his mouth. “Thorin… I-”

“Bilbo Baggins, if you are about to apologise to me I should like to inform that you have already done so seven times since the battle. No more, please.” Thorin chuckled dryly, trying to smile back at his friend. His stomach was in knots, clenching and turning uncomfortably with worry. “I have already said many times that you have no reason to apologise. You saved the lives of many of my kin including myself with your actions, there should be no apologies from your end.”

“I thought you might have already said as much… But I also thought that may have been a dream, because when does the mighty King Thorin ever apologise and admit his wrongdoings?” Bilbo admitted, but his smile faltered in a way that told Thorin that he was being completely serious. That alone made the king swallow thickly and glance around, noting that Fili and Balin were pretending to hold a conversation to pass the time and give them both some privacy.

“When it almost causes the death of one of the few individuals in my life that I hold dear to me.” Thorin answered honestly in an undertone, shifting a little closer so that he could keep the conversation between the two of them. “You should never have protected me that way, Bilbo. I did not deserve it, and I did deserve that arrow after what I did to you.” He said, blinking hard when the hobbit reached out and swatted his arm hard. Harder than should have been possible for someone so weak, though it still didn’t hurt. Thorin was a dwarf, very little actually hurt him.

“Don’t be quite so ridiculous! You did a terrible thing to me, I know that, but I also know that I brought it upon myself by abusing your trust in me.” Bilbo snapped loudly, drawing curious glances from the otherwise courteous dwarves at the other side of the tent. “I stole from you and whether I did it for the greater good or not, which I did _by the way_ , it was a theft nonetheless. I suppose I became deserving of my title of ‘burglar’.” He mused, though he still looked quite cross. A small, genuine smile curled the edges of Thorin’s mouth, his heart fluttering with relief at Bilbo’s returning attitude.

He had missed the sarcastic quips and blunt humour of his hobbit.

“If I had my way, nobody would ever call you a burglar again. You are undeserving of a criminal title – even if you did do your fair share of burgling.” The king under the mountain decided, smiling more freely at his own statement. He wanted Bilbo to know that he wasn’t in trouble. That he needn’t worry. “I know that the damage is already done, but I would like to revoke your banishment and offer you a public apology once you have recovered fully. After that… You will always have a place in Erebor with us, but if you wish to return to the Shire I can take you back on my way to the Blue Mountains to retrieve my sister.” He offered courteously, not wanting his friend to think that he had to rush off the second he had the all-clear. “You may stay in Erebor for as long as you like, and you may live here permanently if it would please you. I will not be offended if you decline, of course… I know I have done nothing to deserve your continued presence in my kingdom, but you will _always_ be welcome.”

Bilbo seemed to mull over that for a moment, his eyes wide and his expression confused. He eyed Thorin closely, as if trying to determine whether or not he was being serious. The king kept as straight a face as he could, levelling their gazes in an attempt to convince the hobbit of his sincerity. “You are offering me citizenship in Erebor?” The hobbit checked, just to be sure that he hadn’t gotten the wrong end of the stick.

“I am, yes. You deserve it after all you have done for me, as well as your share of the treasure. I can assure you that the Arkenstone was returned to me, so that need not stand against your claim.” Thorin confirmed, bowing his head in acknowledgement and offering a small smile. He remembered Bilbo saying that he took the Arkenstone as his share of the treasure during their terrible altercation on the rampart.

He knew he had told Gandalf that he wouldn’t ask Bilbo to stay – but as far as he was concerned, he _wasn’t_ asking Bilbo to stay. He was just letting the brunet know that he was welcome. And if he _wanted_ to stay, he could. Thorin didn’t want him to leave, but he also wanted Bilbo to be safe and happy. If that meant going back to the Shire, so be it.

“Will you allow me time to think about it…? I’ve never considered the idea of not returning to Bag End… I’m not sure how I feel about it.” Bilbo decided slowly, swallowing and grimacing as though the motion pained him. He raised his hand to touch the stiff brace around his neck, sighing heavily. His eyes widened as though something had occurred to him then, and he jerked sharply to look around Thorin at Fili and Balin. “How is everyone…? Did we all… Did everyone make it?” He gushed, his expression full of pain and apprehension.

“You may think about my offer as much as you need to. And everyone in the Company survived more or less intact - we’re all alive thanks to your meddling.” The royal dwarf supplied, steadying Bilbo again and gently helping him to turn so that his legs hung over the edge of the cot and he could see around the tent better. “Do not try to stand, Oin will be here shortly to check your injuries.” He appealed, dropping his hands into his own lap when he caught the hobbit regarding him suspiciously.

“What do you mean, _more or less_ intact?” Their burglar inquired, and as if to answer his question Kili burst in with Oin, using his stump to push the heavy curtain of the door aside. Bilbo’s mouth popped open and his eyes widened further in horror as he raised a hand to cover his mouth. “ _Kili_!” He gasped unsteadily, swaying a little and raising both hands to cup the brace around his neck. Gasping had hurt almost as much as swallowing had.

Kili, to his credit, frowned in confusion for a moment as though Bilbo’s reaction to his entrance was _completely_ absurd before he followed the hobbit’s gaze to his own mangled arm. His brow furrowed unhappily but he tried to offer the burglar a nonchalant shrug – as though it would sooth him. “It’s alright really, the pain is gone now… And Gloin assures me that he can make me the finest prosthetic any dwarf has ever seen once the mines re-open.” He said with no small amount of faked enthusiasm, stepping aside to let Oin past.

“You’ve lost a limb-”

“Just part of my forearm and my hand, really. You need not be so dramatic, Bilbo. I still have my elbow.” Kili offered comfortingly, raising the arm in question and bending his elbow to demonstrate. The stitches sealing his stump still looked irritated and a little swollen beneath their bandages, but the youngest Durin showed no obvious discomfort in moving the limb.

“Who else was hurt?” Bilbo dared to ask, though his eyes met Oin as he asked. He knew Oin would know.

“Bombur was stabbed in the thigh but is quite fine, the injury has not restricted his movement all that much – not that he particularly minds using it as an excuse to sit around and let Bofur and Bifur fawn over him. Kili lost his hand, as you’ve noticed, Fili cracked that thick skull of his but is suffering no impairment from it… Balin broke one of his wrists and Thorin needed stitches for a slice along his ribs. It’s is a miracle and a blessing from Mahal that nobody died – especially you, my boy.” Oin said without any sugar-coating, leading Thorin to sigh and raise a hand to rub the bridge of his nose unhappily. He’d rather have broken the news gently to the hobbit, but it _was_ a blessing that nobody died. Oin wasn’t wrong there. “Taking an arrow to the throat is not something most survive, though I advise that you stay very still and don’t talk whilst I undress and examine your wound. Do you understand?” The old physician barked, as blunt and abrupt as always.

Bilbo tried to nod, wincing and going pink with embarrassment the moment he realised his own stupidity. Oin t’sked loudly, narrowing his eyes at the hobbit and waiting for him to reply verbally. “…I’m sure that I can do that much. Can I lay down for it…? That’ll make staying still easier.” He replied meekly, looking cowed by the older member of their party. Oin nodded shortly, helping their burglar into a comfortable position.

“Everyone move to the other side of the tent; you’re blocking my light!” He barked, leading the others to startle and move away quickly.

There was no arguing with Oin most of the time, fierce old creature as he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing reception! I was not expecting kudos or comments on this fic so early on and I appreciate you all taking the time to read my work.  
> Any more feedback will be greatly appreciated, and updates on the progress of this and my other Bagginshield work can be followed on sad-little-acorn.tumblr.com :)
> 
>  _Thanu men_ \- My King


	3. A Home From Home

“Dain thinks that his people have cleared enough rooms now to house us all through winter.” Balin imparted, sitting down heavily beside Thorin and groaning in relief as he did. The king of Erebor didn’t doubt that the old advisor had been working hard, and not for the first time in the last fortnight he felt an uncomfortable pang of guilt in his gut for asking the other dwarf to do so much in his stead.

“And what do you think?” Thorin asked, making sure that Dain wasn’t being an optimist before he made any solid plans to move the remaining dwarves into the mountain. His cousin often exaggerated things – especially regarding how much work had been done.

“So long as we don’t give every dwarf an entire room to themselves we can move everyone in.” The eldest son of Fundin accepted, glancing across the tent to where Fili, Kili and Bofur were attempting to entertain their hobbit. Thorin followed his gaze, feeling another sharp ache in his core when his eyes raked over the four of them. Fili’s head bandages had been removed a good week ago, though there were still stitches holding a nasty parting in his scalp together. The wound stretched from a few inches above his left brow through his hair line almost all the way to the crown of his skull. He was lucky that the wound had not been wider, else there would have been no repairing it. He would certainly have a thick scar to remind him how close he had come to death. Kili’s stump was healing very well and caused him no pain anymore, but it was another permanent reminder of what Thorin had dragged his family through. Thorin had very almost lost both of his nephews, and would have done if Dwalin had not found Fili when he had – or if the prince of the Mirkwood had not saved Kili from Bolg. Bilbo was another matter entirely… It was a miracle that he had survived, which the king was grateful for, but seeing the hobbit’s thickly bandaged neck made him feel nauseated. Bilbo could have died, without having made amends with the eldest Durin. Without having known how the royal dwarf felt. He still didn’t know now, of course, but Thorin was now certain that he would tell him when everything had settled. “We are used to sharing rooms as families of course, so it will be no problem.” Balin continued, oblivious to his oldest friend’s inner turmoil. “Four of the royal rooms have been cleared, as well as the vast majority of the western housing wing. We have enough room for everyone to live comfortably… Once we’re all moved in we can start clearing the rest of the accommodation areas, and then we’ll have room for the first load of caravans from the Blue Mountains.”

“Alright… I would like you to make a plan of all of the available rooms and start allocating them to dwarves. Dain will kick up a fuss if we give him a royal room, so I would suggest that you put him on the level closest to the royal wing instead. I would like the entirety of the company as close to my wing as possible too… Though I would request that Bilbo is put in a room in the royal wing.” Thorin decided, though he kept his voice low. He and Balin were sat at a small table near the entrance of the tent – a good few metres from where Bilbo and the others sat. He didn’t want Bilbo to object.

“You think Bilbo will create less of a fuss than Dain?” The white-haired dwarf mused, his voice mirthful.

“I won’t give him a choice… He deserves the finery; he almost became a martyr for us.” The king dismissed easily, though he _was_ worried about how his hobbit would react when he found out. He could imagine it now.

_This is quite ridiculous! I am a hobbit, I don’t need all of this, it’s all far too extravagant!_

“I’m not denying that, laddie… Though you and I both know that’s not the only reason you want him close.” Balin insisted, raising a bushy eyebrow.

“If you and I are the only ones who know that, I would very much like to keep it that way.” Thorin made clear, levelling his advisor with a hard stare. He wouldn’t have everyone else knowing, at least not until after he’d told Bilbo. He didn’t want rumours and gossip to reach the hobbit before he did.

“Are you going to court him…? Or at least talk to him about it?” The older dwarf asked, being mindful to keep his voice hushed. He glanced to the hobbit in question again, frowning ever so slightly.

“If I say yes, are you going to tell me not to? I suppose as royal advisor you’re going to tell me that it is improper for me to love someone who is not a dwarf…” The king guessed, wrinkling his nose in distaste and glancing down at the contract in his hands. It was the finalised version of his agreement with Bard – already signed by the former bowman and future king of Dale.

“I never said that to Kili about his elf, why would I say it to you? You’re _thanu men_ , Thorin. You always have been… Your happiness is as important to me as our kingdom is – if not more. You have heirs, you don’t need to marry a female… Not that I ever expected you to.” Balin asserted with a small smile, giving Thorin a knowing look. Bisexuality was very common amongst dwarves, as females were so few and far between that not every dwarf even got to meet one that they weren’t related to. Many dwarves grew up used to the idea that they might end up pairing with someone of their own gender – but Thorin had never liked females that way to begin with. Balin had known that since Thorin was just a boy, but because Frerin and Dis could bear heirs it was never looked at as a problem. Thror’s own brother had been openly gay, and it had never caused shame for the crown. The Elves and Men weren’t quite so accepting of homosexuality, but it was common place amongst dwarves. “If you love a hobbit, I will not be the one to deny you that. You might meet some… Scepticism about your choice of consort, but I’m sure we can handle that just fine. Bilbo is a hero and we will tell everyone as much – he’s diplomatic, he’s brave, I dare say he’s good looking… He’d be an ideal consort, hobbit or not. Especially seeing as both Bard and Thranduil are quite fond of him.”

Thorin almost dropped the papers in shock, managing to tighten his grip just before they could slip through his fingers. “Demup telek menu, Balin.” He muttered, the guilty stirrings in his gut extinguished when he saw his advisor’s eyes crinkle with a smile.

“Menu ziramu gamildul, thanu men.” Balin replied kindly, dipping his head in acknowledgement of Thorin’s praise.

“I am sorry I did not listen to you, before the war.” The king gushed unhappily, feeling bad about everything that he had done in his sickness. He had already apologised to Bilbo several times since he had woken, but he’d not yet found the words to say sorry to his trusted advisor. Bilbo, Dwalin, Balin and his nephews required apologies more than anyone else in the company, though he fully intended to make an official apology to the entire group when they were all well enough to dine together.

“You were sick, Thorin, and I will not hold that against you. You have always been my king, and if anything I am more impressed with you for overcoming your sickness than I am mad at you for succumbing in the first place. Your grandfather was a great dwarf, but you know as well as I do that he never overcame his sickness. It was with him until the day he died, Mahal rest his soul.” The older dwarf dismissed easily, reaching his good hand out to pat Thorin’s shoulder strongly. His other hand was still in a cast to hold his wrist in place, something that had begun to irk him to no end. He’d been fine wearing it at first, but it had been _two weeks_ and he was sick of it. “You will be a better king than even he was; you’re going down in history already for saving our kingdom from Smaug, and from Azog’s forces.” He reminded the royal dwarf, taking the contract that the king had been fingering into his own hand. “Are you going to sign this? I drafted it myself, there’s nothing in it we haven’t already discussed.”

“I will sign it, yes… I’ve already read it, it’s more than reasonable. I think our offer will more than make up for the grief we have caused Lake-Town and its inhabitants.” Thorin accepted, taking the contract back and opening a small pot of ink that he’d already had ready on the table. He hoped his actions before the battle did not sour his future relationship with the local men, as the Mountain would be quite dependant on them for supplies. There was certainly no place to grow food inside his kingdom.

“King Bard certainly thinks so. He was quite astounded when I gave him the final draft to sign, he thought he’d misread when he saw how much we’re offering.” Balin chuckled lowly, looking deeply amused as Thorin signed the contract and passed it back to him.

“Good. It would do well for him to think us generous, it might put us in a better light. Have you spoken to Dain about purchasing supplies from the Iron Hills?” The eldest Durin allowed, shrugging to himself but fixing his advisor with an interested stare. He needed to know if Dain could provide for them. If he couldn’t… If he couldn’t they would have to seek help from Thranduil, like Lake-Town were doing. Thranduil liked Bard well enough, so he had given the man a good deal. Thorin knew he would not be treated so courteously or charitably.

“I didn’t need to, he offered them freely. He suggested to me that we begin clearing the main kitchen and food hall so that we will be prepared to host your coronation next season, before saying that he would send word to the Iron Hills for them to send some caravans of food to last the winter.” Balin replied dutifully, smiling wider.

“My cousin is a thoughtful dwarf. I will have to thank him myself for his assistance, he’s been invaluable. Only Mahal knows where we’d be without him… Though I’d hazard a guess at _dead_.” Thorin sighed gratefully, though his smile was bitter at the last part. He watched Balin fold up the contract and slip it into his robes, wondering what actually would have happened if Dain had not arrived when he had. Would they all be dead? Could the battle of the five armies have been won if the dwarven army had not taken part? Maybe not.

“If you continue with that charm, Bilbo will be yours within the week!” His advisor quipped cheekily, drawing Thorin’s eyes to the hobbit in question. The king frowned but didn’t reply, instead watching their injured burglar as he laughed hoarsely at something Bofur said. Bilbo’s voice always seemed a little wheezy or gravelly now, though Oin was confident that it would return to normal when he had healed. “I’ll get this put away and start on the housing arrangements.” Balin imparted, patting Thorin’s knee affectionately before standing and giving a small wave of farewell to the others. He left shortly after, smiling and shaking his head at Kili’s enthusiastic shouts as he did.

It was only a couple of days later that Thorin finally decided to move them all inside, knowing that it was growing too cold to keep everyone in the tents. Bilbo was allowed to walk about now, so long as he was careful not to put any unneeded pressure on his wound and rested as often as possible.

“Are you excited to see our accommodation, Bilbo?” Kili asked excitably as Thorin lead the company to the gates of Erebor, his eyes raking hungrily over the cleared entrance. Dain and his dwarves had made a set of makeshift doors that would protect them until the caravans of supplies from the Iron Hills arrived in the next week, and the rubble that they had originally used to block the entrance had been shifted.

“I’m not sure… I mean, it’s no hobbit hole.” Bilbo joked thinly, his voice beginning to sound a little better but still reedier than usual. He did not notice the way Thorin cringed a little and frowned at the dismissal, though Fili did of course. The blond prince had been paying a lot of attention to the way Thorin behaved around Bilbo, ever since he had witnessed the king’s midnight confession.

“It’s better than a hobbit hole, it’s _Erebor_!” Fili offered with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm, though no one seemed to think this suspicious. Bilbo laughed huffily, shaking his head stiffly and looking amused.

“Alright, alright, prove me wrong.” The hobbit said, gesturing to the large doors ahead of them.

“We will. Once the renovations start, it’s going to be _beautiful_. It’s already looking much better, as most of the damage is centred around the mines, the main hall and the treasury. Smaug stayed in the base of the mountain and below for the most part, so the kitchens and the domestic areas are largely unscathed. The Library is almost completely unharmed – just covered in a thick layer of dust.” Balin supplied, glancing back to Ori at the mention of the Library. The bookish dwarf puffed up happily, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. “I’m sure Ori will have that taken care of in no time.”

“Can I help? With restoring the library, I mean. I’m not going to be of any use in the mines, and I’m certainly not strong enough to aid in clearing away any of the damage.” Bilbo entreated, glancing from Balin to Thorin and back again.

Thorin frowned, turning his head to look over his shoulder at their burglar as Dain’s men hauled the doors open for them. “You don’t have to help restore anything, Bilbo. You are a guest here, and you need the rest.” He pointed out gently, earning a sharp look from the hobbit that very clearly said ‘ _are you stupid?_ ’.

“I know that I don’t _have_ to help, but I want to. I’m a Baggins, not a freeloader. I won’t live off of you, I will be of use in any way that I can. Helping around the Library will hardly be intensive work, I won’t strain myself. I’ll leave all the heavy lifting to Ori, I’m not a fool. I know to be careful.” Bilbo asserted, looking disgusted by the mere idea of _resting_. Thorin sighed, heaving one shoulder in a shrug before stepping towards the gates.

“As you wish, but you will be paid for it. If you must work whilst you’re here, you will be compensated for doing so.” He insisted, ready for another barbed response. Bilbo always seemed annoyed with him nowadays, not that Thorin blamed him. He’d not been the best king, and he _had_ hurt his friend. “Just like everybody else.”

“That’s ridiculous!” The brunet declared almost immediately, jogging a little to move alongside the dwarven ruler. Thorin noticed the rising redness in Bilbo’s cheeks at needing to jog and slowed his pace so that the hobbit could walk easier.

“And not optional. You’re not a slave, you will not go unpaid.” Thorin replied simply, offering the smaller creature a well-meaning smile. Bilbo seemed to go pinker in the face, huffing loudly but folding his arms across his chest rather than replying. The king knew better than to think that argument over, however, so he didn’t expect his burglar to stay quiet about the matter for more than a few days.

-

Bilbo hated it.

He hated the way Thorin could completely disarm him with a single look. He’d wanted to protest further about being paid.

_I don’t need to be paid, Thorin, I would be working for my right to stay in the mountain – not to be paid. You’ve already promised me riches enough to purchase anything and everything I could ever need, and more._

But then Thorin had _smiled_ at him, so kindly that his breath had stuttered and he’d had to look away. Why could the king do that to him, even after everything that had happened between them? It was ridiculous, and completely unfair. He slowed his gait to fall out of step with Thorin, purposefully not meeting the ruler’s concerned blue eyes when he turned to see why Bilbo had slowed.

There was nothing wrong with the hobbit, he just wanted to walk with Ori – or maybe Bifur. Someone who wouldn’t drag him into loud and excitable conversation unnecessarily like Kili had been trying oh-so-hard to do before.

Bilbo shook his head minutely at the king, hoping he understood. _I’m fine_. He saw Thorin raise a dark eyebrow at him before nodding to himself and turning away again. The former burglar exhaled softly as he watched the company continue past him, smiling as some of them patted his shoulders as they went by and asked if he was okay. Ori was bringing up the rear of the group, scribbling something down in the leather journal he’d been clinging to since the battle as he walked. Bilbo joined him, glancing over the young dwarf’s shoulder as he wrote. “What’s that…?” He asked curiously, smiling at the seemingly random words spread across the page.

_Poetry. History. Geography. Geology. Architecture. Fables…_

“I’m thinking about how we’re going to categorise the library. Any thoughts…?” Ori shared, showing him what he’d written so far – even though Bilbo had already read it over his shoulder.

“Well, you’ve missed Philosophy, Arts, Literature, Mathematics, Language, Legends and Religion.” The hobbit pointed out helpfully, amused by how much the ginger dwarf had missed out. He’d thought that legends and language would be favourites of the dwarves.

“Ah yes, you’re quite right… Sorry, I’m a little out of sorts. It’s exciting, isn’t it? All of this. Going into the mountain, getting our rooms… I hope I’m as close to the library as possible.” The youngest Ri sighed almost dreamily, staring up the face of the mountain as they walked into the entrance hall. The entrance hall alone looked much better than before, cleared of rubble and lit with beautiful candle arrangements. Bilbo still couldn’t help but lament how unlike his own little smial it was.

He _did_ miss the Shire.

“I suppose it is exciting, yes… I can’t wait to see this library of yours.” Bilbo articulated carefully, not mentioning how unexcited he was about getting a room. He’d still not put a lot of thought into Thorin’s offer of permanent citizenship in Erebor, and being in the mountain only reminded him of the decision he had yet to make.

Could he stay in the Lonely Mountain? On one hand, he would miss all of his friends terribly if he didn’t – but on the other hand, he would miss his smial if he did. He would lose the simple life of a hobbit and have to live the life of a dwarf.

He was no crafter; what use would he be to the dwarves? The library was the only thing he could possibly help with – but they had Ori for that. Bilbo couldn’t mine, wouldn’t whittle… He could cook and he could garden, but he doubted very much that the dwarves would appreciate either of those things. What would he do with his life, if he stayed?

It was a troubling thought, and one Bilbo had to push to the back of his mind as the group began ascending a large set of stairs towards the upper levels of the mountain. He raised a hand to itch the back of his bandages, frowning when the coarse material snagged a little on his stitches and forced a pained hiss from between his teeth.

Luckily for him the dwarves were all too busy _oohing_ and _aahing_ to pay much attention to him, so nobody fussed over his unhappy noise. That was the way Bilbo like it, he’d grown sick of the company molly-coddling him not long after the battle was over and they had discovered the extent of his wounds. He knew they all meant well, but he didn’t like to worry them. Nor did he particularly enjoy the way they smothered him with attention when they were worried.

Dwarves could be _very_ overbearing.

Gradually the group were filtered into rooms, often sharing with family members – unless they had spouses due to come up from the Blue Mountains. Bombur and Gloin got their own rooms for this reason, whilst the other members of the company were grouped by relations. The Ri brothers would be sharing, Bofur and Bifur were sharing, as were Balin and Dwalin – though their rooms were closer to the royal wing than anyone else’s of course. Balin was the royal advisor, and Dwalin was due to become the King’s guard. They had two of the most important roles in the kingdom.

It took Bilbo a while to realise that he still hadn’t been assigned a room, and by the time he had they were in the royal wing. “…Thorin?” He called uncertainly, glancing around. The walls were decorated with intricate carvings of some kind of story board and littered with small gems that flickered in the candle light. The king paused from where he had been showing Fili and Kili their adjoining rooms, giving them the rooms he and Frerin had slept in as children.

“Yes?” He replied cautiously, shutting the door behind his nephews and turning to face the hobbit. They were the only two left by that point, alone in the long stone hall.

“Where will I be staying?” Bilbo pressed, glancing around. He had to admit that the royal wing was quite beautiful, even after so many years of disuse. The walls were wonderfully decorated, and it was extravagant without being tasteless or gaudy.

“We’re almost there, don’t worry… I have not forgotten about you.” Thorin reassured his burglar, smiling kindly. The smile put a lump in Bilbo’s throat – but in no way reassured him. His room was on a different level to the rest of the company…? He wasn’t sure if he liked that.

He expected the king to lead him up or down another set of stairs, but instead he gestured to a large oaken door further down the hall. In the royal wing. “I’m _here_???” Bilbo said, his eyes wide and confused. He walked slowly to the door in question, staring at it for a long moment before turning to look at Thorin.

The dark-haired dwarf nodded and gestured to the door again, trying to encourage Bilbo to take a look. The hobbit groaned reluctantly, turning the heavy, antique looking doorknob and pushing into the room. He sucked in a startled breath, staring around in a daze. The main room was probably bigger than all of Bag End’s bedrooms put together, and there were several doors leading from it that told him that wasn’t all he was getting. He stepped inside – eying the stunning, mahogany, four poster bed that rested at the back of the room with its immaculately carved canopy and legs. It was covered in furs and blankets, with heavy curtains that would no doubt block out any and all light that might otherwise bother him. The bed alone was big enough to house four adult hobbits comfortably, much bigger than he had ever seen before. Even the bed he’d slept on in Lake-Town hadn’t been quite so large, and that had been for a _Man_.

He moved towards the bed and reached a hand out to run his fingers through the soft looking furs, his expression no doubt awestruck. Thorin watched from the open door as he ambled around, moving to examine the large fireplace – that was carved to match his bed and the plush armchairs that sat around it. The furniture was all matching mahogany, almost black in colour.

Dain’s dwarves had had the common sense to throw out any furniture and fabrics that had rotted or fallen into disrepair, replacing it with the supplies that the kingdom had acquired so far. Much of the furniture on the upper levels had been salvageable, though – just dusty.

There was an incredibly old wrought iron chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling containing burnt out candles that had probably been there for decades upon decades, but it could be lowered to change the candles – or candles could be placed in the other wrought iron wall fixtures around the room.

When Bilbo made no move to explore the other doors, Thorin cleared his throat politely to draw his attention. “The four doors here lead to a bathroom, a small kitchen, an even smaller balcony and a private corridor. The private corridor bypasses my room and continues downwards to a secret passage, should you ever need to escape. It looks like a closet when you first open the door, but there’s a way to slide the back wall away to reveal the hallway. It was implemented for the Royal family to get away if there was ever an invasion or rebel attack on the crown.” He offered, moving to the door in question. He opened it, watching as Bilbo turned away from his mahogany wardrobe to eye the shallow looking closet. Thorin reached inside, pressing his palm to a certain brick on the back wall that loosened it. He then pushed it aside, smiling to the hobbit as he did. “It should only be used in emergencies… You can latch the door from this side though, so rest assured that no one can come into your room without your say-so.”

The hobbit nodded vaguely, moving away to examine the other rooms that Thorin had told him of. The bathroom was a comfortable size, with a large bath set into the floor and shelves galore for whatever soaps Bilbo might want to store there. There was a surprisingly clean looking toilet, with proper plumbing – much to his surprise. Bilbo had seen the appalling excuses for ‘toilets’ that most Men had and had assumed that plumbing was something only Hobbits and elves had. He supposed it was silly to think such a thing, but he’d not known otherwise.

Thorin watched him all the while, smiling fondly behind the hobbit’s back as he moved through to the kitchen and began raiding the storage space, no doubt looking at how much room he had. Thorin had made sure that Bilbo got a kitchen with a reasonably sized oven and pantry, knowing that the hobbit liked his food. Most meals were eaten communally, but everyone in the mountain had a private kitchen for their own use in case they wanted or needed to stay in their rooms. “Thorin… Thorin, this is all-” Bilbo began weakly, closing all of the cupboards he had opened.

“Too much? Unnecessary?” Thorin guessed, interrupting before his burglar could begin gushing. “I don’t think so… It’s less than you deserve after all you’ve done for me and my people. I’d give you the king’s room if I could, but Balin thought that would be a bit _much_. This room is usually used for family or visitors, but I don’t have much of either, so it’s all yours. It is where you’ll live for the rest of your time in Erebor – be it months or decades. I hope you like it.” He explained, following his friend as he moved to the last door left to check – the small balcony. It wasn’t very impressive, but Thorin knew for certain that Bilbo would enjoy the view. And he could always put out a few pots for some plants if he wanted to, though the current season wasn’t right for any kind of gardening. It was much too cold for that.

“Thorin… It’s…” Bilbo breathed, opening the door to the balcony and sucking in a shocked breath. He stared out over the horizon, raising a hand to his mouth. “It’s beautiful, Thorin… I love it. It’s just… It’s _so much_.”

“I’d give you more if I could, but this is the best I could do given our limited supplies… According to Balin, Mirkwood have agreed to trade us a large amount of fabrics and other such supplies for a reasonable price. We can have some clothes tailored for you at some point in the next week, but for the moment I’ve put some of the smaller tunics we could find in your wardrobe. They’ll probably be too big, but they’ll have to do for the moment I’m afraid.” Thorin hummed, smiling a little at the misty look in Bilbo’s eyes as he stood on the balcony. “I hope that this mountain will one day be as good a home to you as it was to me in my youth. Erebor truly was an amazing place to live when I was young, and I would see it restored to its former glory – though maybe with some better defence measures this time. No drake will _ever_ take our kingdom again, not as long as there is air in my lungs.”

“Isn’t it… Inappropriate, for someone who’s not in the royal family to live up here?” Bilbo choked, turning away from the balcony to face the broad dwarf behind him. It was too good to be true. There had to be an ‘if’ or a ‘but’, or some way that this was all going to be taken from him. The room might have been more luxurious than anything he would choose for himself, but it was still comfortable and homely looking in its extravagance. And it was so generous of Thorin to gift it to him that he couldn’t quite believe his luck.

“Do you think Balin would have allowed it if it was…?” The king dismissed, dodging the question without strictly lying. He’d not said that it _wasn’t_ inappropriate. It probably was a bit improper, but Thorin couldn’t care less and it wasn’t _so_ improper that it was forbidden. Balin wouldn’t have permitted it if it broke any rules or laws, he was the royal advisor after all. The reputation of the kingdom and its king was his priority.

The hobbit seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding his agreement, convinced by Thorin’s lacklustre argument. Bilbo knew Balin well after more than a year of travelling with him, and he knew that Balin wasn’t easy to push around. If Bilbo staying up in the royal wing was forbidden, Balin wouldn’t allow it. Nor would Thorin be able to talk him around, king or not. “I suppose you’re right… He wouldn’t.” He eventually conceded, raising a hand to worry the edge of his bandages. Thorin’s eyes traced the movement, a concerned look gracing his features.

“ _This_ ,” He began, reaching out to place a large calloused hand carefully over one side of the bandages. His touch was gentle, not putting any pressure on the stitches underneath. “-is part of the reason you deserve this room. You’ve saved my life on several occasions, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, and suffered far more than I could ever ask you to because of it. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you, and if I could I would give you everything I have to try to repay you for that.” He confided reverently, before letting his hand slip away and taking a large step backwards. “Make yourself at home… I will send someone to come and fetch you when our meal has been prepared, but you may have a few hours to yourself now.” He encouraged, effectively dismissing himself. He turned and left before Bilbo could even open his mouth to reply, leaving the hobbit feeling completely lost.

What had that been about? When had Thorin ever been that _gentle_ …? That thoughtful? It made Bilbo feel small and shallow for his previous concerns, about whether or not he would belong here. Thorin wanted him here, so did the others… Why would he be so selfish as to leave, when they were offering him so much? Companionship, a job, an amazing place to live…

Why was it so hard to think about turning his back on the Shire? There was nothing there for him anymore. Just doyleys, meaningless family heirlooms and nosy neighbours who didn’t really care if he lived or died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, but I hope you enjoy this chapter! From here on out we're going to see more of Thorin struggling with life in the mountain, but I wanted a chapter of Bilbo's reaction to staying in Erebor.
> 
> Thanu men - My King  
> Demup telek menu - Honor acts through you  
> Menu ziramu gamildul - You forge with the ancients
> 
> If you have any questions or would like to hear about the progress I am making in writing this and my other story, you can find me at sad-little-acorn.tumblr.com :)
> 
>  
> 
> **EDIT 2/04/15;; I have recently started a full time job, and as such I cannot update until I have adjusted to my new schedule and found time to write around it. I promise that I am not abandoning either of my stories, I just need time to get used to working again after having been unemployed for so long. I hope nobody minds! I'm really sorry about the delay, but my job comes first I'm afraid.**


	4. Revelations and Recollections

Bilbo had been sat in silence on his balcony for quite some time when the sound of somebody knocking on the door drew him from his miserable contemplations. After Thorin had left so abruptly, the hobbit had changed and dragged a chair onto the stone outcrop so that he could look out over the snowy landscape whilst he considered whether or not he could actually stay. He knew he didn’t have to choose right away, but living in the mountain and wearing one of the small tunics that had been put into his wardrobe for him with a pair of loose grey trousers only served to remind him of how out of place he was. The tunics didn’t fit him properly, despite him being certain they were for very _young_ dwarves originally and the trousers would have to be adjusted with a needle and thread at some point in the near future. They were much too long for a hobbit – they brushed the bottoms of his ankles!

Could he live in Erebor with his friends, or would he just end up feeling as unwanted and unneeded as he sometimes had in the Shire? He’d not had very many friends back home, and on his worst days he’d felt terribly out of place without his parents around. Like he no longer belonged. Only Gaffer gave him the time of day in the Shire, no one else really cared much about him – other than as a source of gossip. But would he feel better _here_? As the only hobbit in a community of dwarves?

He wasn’t sure the other dwarves would welcome him, even if the company did. Dwarves were a very private people, and no dwarf that didn’t already know him would trust him in their society. They’d be suspicious and maybe even hostile.

Bilbo sighed deeply, shaking his head to clear it before standing and walking to the door before his guest could knock again. It was probably Thorin or one of his nephews coming to collect him for dinner, so he couldn’t leave them waiting. It’d be rude.

When he swung the door open he was not faced with any of the Durins, but with Oin carrying his newly acquired wooden box of medical supplies. “Alright, lad? I told Thorin that I needed to check your neck before dinner, so he sent me up… I’ll escort you to the main hall when we’re done.” The elderly dwarf explained gruffly, striding into the room without an invitation.

“Alright…” The hobbit murmured, closing the door behind the dwarf and walking to one of the arm chairs by the fire. Oin had already opened his box up on the small circular table between the chairs and was removing things he expected to use – fresh bandages and a small pot of a green paste that was all too familiar to Bilbo. Oin slathered it on his wound daily to ‘aid’ the healing and it smelled _awful_. Bitter and almost _dirty_. Just the memory of its pungency made Bilbo wrinkle his nose pre-emptively.

“Nice rooms you got here…” The white-haired dwarf remarked, glancing around briefly before closing his box and straightening up. He gestured for Bilbo to sit down in the armchair before reaching out and beginning to unwind the hobbit’s bandages carefully.

Bilbo frowned to himself, the gesture reminding him of the gentle weight of Thorin’s hand on his neck just a few hours before. He still hadn’t figured out what _that_ was about. He knew Thorin felt bad about what he’d done to the hobbit, but Bilbo hadn’t ever seen him be so gentle with anyone except his nephews. Not in the entire year that they’d been travelling together. “It is, isn’t it…? What’s your room like? I’m sure you’re glad that you don’t have to share with Gloin anymore… He does snore _terribly_.” He asked politely, offering a half-hearted smile after the comment about Gloin’s snoring. Gloin and Bombur were the worst in the company for snoring, though Dwalin could give them a run for their money when he’d had too much to drink. His snores could shake buildings, Bilbo thought.

“My room is plenty big enough, certainly more than enough for just me. I won’t miss the snoring – I think years of sharing a room with my brother might be what made me so deaf in the first place.” Oin humoured with a cynical smile, rolling the soiled bandages into a ball between his hands. He eyed the neat stitches that held Bilbo’s wound closed, glad to see that new skin was growing in well. The puncture had sealed nicely, and if Bilbo had been a dwarf he would have had his stitches removed already. As such Oin wasn’t sure if hobbits healed quite as quickly as they did, so he wanted to leave them in a short while longer. Just to be safe. “This is looking much better, lad. No more swelling, no redness… No more than is natural, anyway. How does it feel?” He probed, crouching to get a better look at the area. “Any discomfort swallowing, or coughing…?”

“It doesn’t hurt to swallow any more, but it does feel a little… _Tight_ , when I tilt my head either way.” The burglar answered honestly, knowing better than to sugar-coat things for the old physician. Oin couldn’t help him if he wasn’t honest with him – and the old dwarf always got really mad if he was lied to or ignored.

“ _Aye_ , I expect it does. That’s the new skin. It will feel tight for a short while, and it’ll start to itch too I imagine. That means it’s healing – it’s a good sign. So long as it doesn’t hurt to swallow, cough, or turn your head I’d say you’re healing at a good pace. Slower than a dwarf, but you’re not a dwarf.” The eldest member of their company dictated, raising one hand and gripping Bilbo’s chin firmly. He carefully tilted and turned his head either way, watching the hobbit’s reaction closely. “How’s that?”

Bilbo frowned a little, wrinkling his nose again in distaste at being man-handled. He knew Oin was only helping, but he would have preferred that the dwarf had run what he was going to do by him first. “It doesn’t hurt, it just feels stiff and tight. Like moving it is pulling on something.”

“That’s normal. It’ll probably ache if you move too much, and it’ll still be too sore to lean on, but that’s fine. There was some minor muscle damage where the arrow dug into you, but the elves were confident that they’d fixed that. Said it’d just feel weird for a while, which sounds about right to me too. Most folks suffer decreased mobility after a penetrating wound – Bombur took a week to walk steady after his stitches came out.” Oin reassured him, releasing his chin before pulling the green paste over. He scooped a small amount onto two fingers and began to rub it over the stitches, keeping his touch as gentle as possible so that he didn’t cause too much pain by doing so. He sighed when he heard Bilbo inhale sharply, but it couldn’t be helped.

Bilbo didn’t really mind the sting the herbal concoction elicited, especially since he’d witnessed the noises Thorin had made when being treated after the Carrock. He’d been awake for the initial treatment of his wounds, and gotten to feel Oin poke the paste _into_ his injuries before stitching them up. The hobbit was thankful that he’d been unconscious when his neck had been cleaned out and stitched. “I’m going to be alright, then?”

“Oh aye, you’ll be right as rain, lad.” The dwarf in front of him agreed, wiping his fingers on his own trousers before picking up the fresh bandages. “You’re going to have an impressive looking scar – something to woo the ladies back home.”

“ _If_ I go back…” Bilbo amended, not bothering to correct Oin’s assumption that he liked ladies. The hobbit had never really been attracted to hobbit lasses, though he’d had a bit of a thing for Gaffer just before he’d come of age. Gaffer had loved his girl since they were children though, so Bilbo had settled for the leaner built hobbit lads that worked in the farms whenever he had fancied a dalliance. Not that he’d had a dalliance in a good ten years now – content to just be the most eligible and respectable bachelor in all of Hobbiton. There was something distinctly unsatisfying about going for a meaningless tumble with anyone as he got older. He either wanted something _real_ , or nothing at all. He was a Baggins; he wouldn’t settle for scraps. And he was middle-aged anyway, not some horny thirty-year-old.

“I’m sure it’d impress the ladies here too if you did stay – though the lack of beard might weird them out to begin with.” The dwarf snorted, shooting the hobbit a wry grin as he began wrapping bandages around his neck again.

“That’s alright, I’m not really a fan of that kind of thing anyway…” Bilbo dismissed awkwardly, not liking all of the talk about his sexuality. Apparently Oin misunderstood him however, as one of his hands moved to fiddle with his beard self-consciously.

“Of beards?” He appealed, looking distinctly insulted. What was wrong with a good beard?

“No, of ladies.” The hobbit admitted warily, wondering how the dwarves would react to this – as Oin was not known to keep secrets. He was a terrible gossip, just like his brother. Luckily for Bilbo, the dwarf didn’t seem repulsed or even particularly surprised by the news. He just nodded understandingly and resumed covering the hobbit’s throat with bandages. “Does that… Bother you?” He exacted uncertainly, not sure how to take the old physician’s silence.

“Should it? King Thror’s brother was openly gay and nobody minded… It’s not uncommon for dwarves to be attracted to their own gender, or even all genders. We don’t have a lot of lady-folk; we can hardly ask half of our population to be celibate just because there aren’t enough ladies to go around. If everyone were straight we’d be an _incredibly_ miserable people.” Oin hummed, his tone completely casual. Un-phased. Bilbo stared at him wide-eyed, completely befuddled by the news.

“You… You _don’t_ mind…?” Bilbo reiterated, just to be sure. It was so alien, to think that someone could think it normal or even _acceptable_ to be the way that he was. Hobbits were very family orientated and if you were gay you could only adopt – that was enough to make most hobbits uncomfortable with the idea. Orphans weren’t common in the Shire, so if you were gay the chances were that you’d never have a family.

Who would want that?

No one _normal_ , that was for sure.

Oin finished with the bandages before levelling his gaze with Bilbo’s and raising an eyebrow speculatively. “Are hobbits against it too, then? I know Men are, but you gentle-folk are very easy going… I’d never have guessed that you might discriminate against that kind of thing.” He wondered, heaving his shoulders in a shrug. “I honestly don’t mind, lad. Most dwarves don’t. It’s like I said, we dwarves are used to the idea. You can like ladies, you can like lads, you can like both or you can not-like anyone… That’s your business. So long as it’s not hurting anyone, why should we care? I don’t see what the problem is with it, or why Men and apparently hobbits are so against it. Why be against love? It doesn’t make sense to me.” He reasoned, quite logically Bilbo hated to admit. “Love is love.”

Had he spent his whole life hiding his sexuality from anyone but his parents for no reason? Sure, hobbits disapproved of it, but maybe it _was_ unreasonable of them to. Maybe Bilbo should have realised that sooner. Oin was completely right. Love was love, Bilbo couldn’t help who he did or didn’t find attractive.

“Yes, hobbits are against it… We’re very family orientated, most hobbits have large families. The general assumption is that if you’re… Like me, then you can’t have a family.” He shared, raising a hand to scratch the back of his head and feeling quite ridiculous – but also kind of elated. It was good to finally know that his friends wouldn’t hate him if they knew. They would probably understand, and he had no reason to hide from them.

“What about adoption?”

“There aren’t many children up for adoption in the Shire, as every pregnancy is wanted and hobbits rarely die before their time. Orphans aren’t really very common, and any children who do become orphans are often just given to a member of their extended family. To an uncle or an aunt, or even a cousin if aforementioned cousin is old enough.”

“We’re a very family-orientated people too, but we’re completely for adoption. As you might have noticed from the company, orphans _aren’t_ uncommon amongst our kind – and anyone can adopt. Dwarves die in fights, in accidents… During childbirth too, quite often. It’s not unheard of. I once knew a lovely pair of ladies who raised an orphaned dwarf boy between the two of them quite happily.”

“Wow… _Well_ … Could I ask you a favour…? Could you please… _Not_ tell the others about me? I want to tell people in my own time… Aside from my parents, you’re the first soul I’ve ever told.”

“I’m honoured – I won’t tell, I swear it to Mahal himself. Just don’t worry too much about telling the company, alright? S’not going to change anything, lad. No one will care, I can promise you that. Well, _some_ of them might care, just… Not in a bad way. They won’t think poorly of you for it, is what I mean.” Oin insisted, patting Bilbo’s knee hard and standing up straight. “Now, let’s go down to the hall and see the others before all of the food is gone, eh?”

Bilbo spent the entire walk to the communal dining hall wondering what Oin had meant when he’d said _some_ of the dwarves might care, but not in a bad way. What did that mean? Did he just mean because they’d be surprised? Bilbo wasn’t sure.

When they entered the dining area a long wolf-whistle greeted them and the hobbit rolled his eyes as he approached the large table at the top of the hall. “Look at you, dressed up just like one of us. Next you’ll be growin’ some whiskers and wearin’ _shoes_!” Bofur called earnestly, having been the one to whistle in the first place.

“Not likely. Hobbits are renowned for only growing hair on their feet and the tops of their heads.” Bilbo answered in good humour, rolling his eyes again as he walked up the short flight of steps to stand on the platform the company resided on. This table was higher than and longer than any of the others, no doubt for the royal family and their close advisors. People of importance. He didn’t even humour the idea of wearing shoes – it was just preposterous. Hobbits didn’t wear shoes. Not unless it was icy out, and even then they did so very unhappily and with many complaints.

“Just your feet and heads??? You’ve not even got a wee bit o’ fluff on your chest?” The floppy-hatted dwarf gasped in mock-horror, his eyes almost as wide as his shit-eating grin.

“You saw me change and bathe plenty on our journey, you know that I don’t.” Bilbo huffed in exasperation, glancing up and down the table for somewhere to sit. Thorin pointedly pushed out the chair to his left, in between himself and his eldest nephew. It was a silent invitation, but an obvious one. The hobbit blinked hard, confused, but moving to take the seat nonetheless. Kili smiled at him from where he sat beside his brother, too busy eating to greet him verbally. Nothing could come between the youngest Durin and the first decent meal they’d had in _weeks_.

Dain had had a few of his smaller boars killed for their first real meal in the mountain and the kitchen appeared to have spit-roasted them – going by the fact that they were still whole. Thankfully whomever had prepared the food had skinned the boar first, since Dain’s animals were all thickly furred. Especially his rams.

Bilbo was just glad that Kili had finally learned not to talk to the respectable hobbit with his mouth full of food like he’d used to do.

“So, you’re just a short elf, really? They’re pretty hairless too.” Bofur interrupted his train of thoughts to interject, earning an especially haughty exhale from the brown haired halfling.

“He’s nothing like an elf.” Thorin defended as Bilbo took his seat, and the former burglar was too shocked to respond. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Thorin wouldn’t want him compared to an elf, since Thorin disliked elves so much, but he would never have expected the royal dwarf to defend him like that. He was the _king_ , for goodness sake! He had better things to do than protect an ordinary hobbit’s honour.

“You’re right. He’s too graceless.” The cheerful dwarf imparted, his grin somehow growing wider. Dwalin snorted into his mug of drink from where he sat on Thorin’s other side. Dain had chosen to sit at a table with his own advisors rather than with Thorin, having waved off any of his cousin’s insistences that he sit with them.

Dain considered himself to be equal with his own people, despite his authority over them. A dwarf’s-dwarf, Balin had told Bilbo when describing the king of the Iron Hills. Bilbo wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but Dain seemed nice enough. Easy to get along with, if not a little _loud_.

Though Bilbo was very much used to loud dwarves, as was proved by the fact that he no longer cringed or flinched when the table broke out into uproarious laughter at Bofur’s last comment. The loud exclamations and laughter of the company had startled and scared him at the beginning of their journey, but he was very much accustomed to it by this point.

“You’re right, I’ve never seen an elf fall on its arse before – Bilbo does so almost daily.” Nori pointed out between soft chuckles, though the hobbit felt he had every right to say as much. He’d never encountered a dwarf as graceful as Nori was – the spymaster was impossibly quiet at moving from A to B, and he moved with a fluidity very unlike most of the other dwarves. He was like a cat, every movement quiet and precise and full of grace.

It was quite incredible.

“I suppose you’re right about that much, I’m not the most elegant creature in the world. I am probably one of the most elegant at this table though, or do I need to remind Dwalin of how he blundered about the riverbank by Lake-Town with his feet still caught in his barrel after we escaped the Mirkwood?” Bilbo supplied, offering the bald dwarf a sly smile when he sputtered messily and scowled.

“Don’t need to be elegant, I’m a warrior.” Dwalin grumbled stubbornly, sounding and looking a lot like a petulant child. Which did not suit him, _at all_.

“Thorin manages to be both with very little difficulty.” The hobbit pointed out, carefully ignoring the attractive pink flush that appeared on the king’s cheeks at the compliment. Bilbo thought he must not get complimented very often to react in such away – which seemed ridiculous. He was the rightful king of Erebor, how had no-one complimented his grace in battle before? Or anything else about him? He was quite the looker, surely someone had pointed out that much? Such rugged, handsome good-looks couldn’t have gone unnoticed by all but an out of place hobbit.

“I wouldn’t say with little difficulty, laddie. Took Thorin quite some time to learn not to bumble around like a sleepy bear in battle.” Balin interjected from where he sat beside his younger brother, flashing their burglar a wise smile.

“How come Dwalin never learned then? He still stamps around like a bear who’s been woken from hibernation too early.” Bilbo criticised, earning a throaty laugh from Thorin and a good few chuckles from the others. The hobbit began dishing food onto his plate, smiling to himself as Dwalin huffed and grumbled angrily under his breathe with his brow still furrowed into a deep scowl.

“Aye, that he does. You should see him dance.” The eldest Fundin suggested, making his brother go incredibly red in the face and stab him in the thigh with his fork. Balin didn’t even cringe, unperturbed. And seemingly unhurt. “Can’t tell how many dancing lessons I put him through before I just gave up… Thorin picked it up right quick, had to – what with being prince. But my brother…” Balin sighed deeply, shaking his head in mock-sorrow. Dwalin was absolutely fuming, his face and the tops of his ears blushing furiously as the company roared with laughter.

Even Thorin managed a wide, relaxed smile. It was so rare to see Thorin smile that Bilbo didn’t notice he was staring until questioning blue eyes fixed on his own green ones. The hobbit blinked hard when he realised that the eldest Durin was staring back, his expression simultaneously interested and confused. Bilbo felt a blush rise all the way to his own ears and looked away pointedly, staring down at his plate. Thorin watched him for a long moment before shifting his gaze to his youngest nephew, who was waving his fork about whilst telling a very animated story to the others. Something about the elves, which wasn’t very surprising.

Kili was _obsessed_ with elves nowadays.

-

Thorin was still reeling about what Bilbo had said that night when he finally retired to his room. After dinner he’d spent his afternoon in a dusty old meeting room discussing short term plans with Balin and Dain, but he’d been distracted ever since their hobbit’s offhanded compliment to him. His cousin and advisor had both had to nudge him a good few times to get his thoughts back on track – though they always wandered again.

Bilbo thought that he was _elegant_.

He knew grace and elegance were considered admirable and desirable to elves, but to hobbits? He wasn’t sure. It sounded like a compliment on Bilbo’s tongue, whether it was meant as one or not. Especially as he had said it as a counter to Dwalin defending his own lack of grace. Like it was a good thing.

Was Thorin graceful? Or Elegant? He didn’t know. He’d not thought about it. He could dance, Balin hadn’t been lying there, and he’d always had a knack for it. He’d needed to take lessons as second in line for the throne and a member of the royal family, as it was common for dwarves to hold ceremonial dances and parties at least every season. Thorin needed to be able to dance so that he could impress and woo important dignitaries, and he’d always been much better than Frerin was at it. Their mother had always joked that Frerin had been born with two left feet. Thorin was not as good as his sister, Dis, however.

She truly was a beauty on the dance floor, all gliding steps and stunning smiles. Every dwarf who saw her dance fell in love with her – even the ladies. The majority of them had been horrified that Dis had married a simple merchant after their exile… Thorin included.

Vili had loved Dis more than any gem or jewel in the entirety of Middle Earth, but he’d hardly been a suitable choice for a princess.

Thorin just knew that Dis would laugh herself silly at the irony when she found out that her big brother was in love with a hobbit – who might’ve been from a respectable family by hobbit standards, but was hardly royalty or even a dignitary.

Bilbo was brave and loyal and _very_ attractive, but so had Vili been. As the eldest Durin was sure his little sister would hasten to point out. He supposed that he owed her an apology for the way he’d treated her late husband. He understood now how she could love such a simple dwarf quite so much.

“ _Mahal_ , have I fallen hard…” The king muttered almost regretfully to himself, glancing to the sturdy wooden door that marked the hidden passage out of the royal wing. Bilbo’s room was just down the narrow stone corridor, not even a minute’s walk away. The hobbit could be sleeping in the next room over – barely dressed and wrapped comfortably in the many furs Thorin had provided him with. The mental image made his heart swell. “This is ludicrous… He’ll not feel the same.” He groaned under his breath when he caught hold of himself, pouring himself a chalice of wine from the side table before walking out onto his own balcony. His and the hobbit’s rooms were the only bedrooms with balconies, and if Thorin looked to his left he could see his burglar’s balcony from his own. It was currently empty, though a warm glow of light could be seen from beneath the door – meaning Bilbo was probably still awake. Not warm and sleepy like the king had pictured him in his head.

 _He could never like me_ , Thorin thought bitterly, frowning down at his wine as he turned his attention back to the moonlit view outside of the window. The landscape was covered in snow for as far as his eyes could see, thankfully covering the mass graves and the extensive damage left from the war. It made everything look oddly peaceful, and Thorin was distrustful of that.

It wasn’t right, that things were so quiet.

 _Be thankful that they are,_ he chastised himself mentally as he sighed deeply. His company didn’t deserve any more trouble. Least of all Bilbo.

 _Bilbo_ … Even the thought of him made Thorin’s heart ache with longing. He wanted nothing more to swaddle the hobbit up safely and spend the rest of his life protecting him – making sure he never came to any harm ever again. But Bilbo was too strong-willed and stubborn for that. He’d never let Thorin mollycoddle him, the dwarf was wise enough to know that much.

_Nor will he ever want me, I’ve been too unkind to him. Insulted him too often, banished him, obliterated our friendship with my own stupidity… Not to mention I almost threw him off of the battlements, which is not something that will have endeared me to him. I don’t deserve his friendship anymore, let alone his love._

The silent admission knocked the air from his lungs and he leaned heavily on the stone wall of the balcony, pushing his free hand through his thick hair as he dragged in a deep breath.

“Oh, hello…” A quiet voice crowed to his side, leading the king to startle violently and almost drop his wine. He straightened up, fixing his eyes on the hobbit who must have just walked out onto his own balcony. He’d definitely not been there before. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!” Bilbo gushed, his brows furrowed deeply with concern and his cheeks flushed an attractive shade of red.

“It’s quite alright… I was just enjoying the fresh winter air – must have gotten lost in my own thoughts.” Thorin dismissed, raising his chalice to his mouth and taking a steadying sip. “How’re you finding your rooms…? Comfortable, I hope?” He called to the hobbit, tilting his head curiously and regarding the object of his affections.

Bilbo was wearing his sleep-clothes and a cotton dressing-gown that was far too big for him, something that he seemed very aware of if his pink cheeks and nervous shifting was anything to go by. He was probably concerned with propriety, being so poorly dressed in front of the king. “Very, thank you… My rooms are quite lovely, though I think it’s going to take some time for me to get used to the sheer size of them.” He commented, raising a slender hand to scratch at his unruly, curly brown hair. He didn’t seem able to look at Thorin, his eyes flitting around uncomfortably. The thought made something in Thorin’s gut twist unpleasantly. Did Bilbo despise his presence that much? Or was it just that he felt underdressed and embarrassed? Thorin couldn’t tell, but he didn’t like either option much. He didn’t want to make the hobbit unhappy, especially when he had no problem with his current attire. On the contrary, he found his burglar’s rumpled appearance quite comely.

“I’m glad you like them… I’ll leave you to enjoy the view in peace, have a good night, Bilbo.” The dwarven ruler hummed neutrally, dipping his head and raising his glass in a polite farewell before retreating inside. He didn’t want to bother the hobbit; it was the last thing he wanted. He drained the rest of his wine from his chalice with one last swig, putting the cup down on the side table again before beginning to undress for bed. He needed a good long rest in a real bed whilst he still had the chance to. Things wouldn’t be so quiet forever, and there was a lot to be done the next day. A full night’s sleep might make the workload a little easier – and take his mind off of just how smitten he was with one of his dearest friends.

Dwalin would laugh himself silly when he found out, and Thorin knew he would find out one way or another. Probably through Balin – the elderly dwarf never had been good at hiding things from his younger brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this took so long, and that it's a little shorter than usual! Hopefully it doesn't disappoint.  
> Updates should become more regular from here on out, but for more information on when chapters will be posted and the progress of each of my stories you can follow sad-little-acorn.tumblr.com which is updated fairly frequently :)
> 
> In case it's not obvious, I will be switching perspective sometimes. I prefer writing stories from more than one POV, and hopefully where the POVs change is obvious enough with how I divide the chapters. If it's not, please let me know and I'll figure out something easier.
> 
> Thank you for all of the comments, the kudos and the bookmarks! I'm astounded by how well received this has been ~


	5. Finding a Place

Thorin had been right.

Dwalin _was_ in fact laughing himself silly. Laughing so hard that he could barely breathe, his face and neck flushed an uncomfortably dark shade of red.

“Alright, laugh away. This _is_ a problem, whether you find it _hilarious_ or not.” The king snapped after what had to have been ten minutes of enduring his best friend’s relentless mirth, feeling thoroughly disgruntled about just how funny his situation was to the bald warrior. He was beginning to hope the other dwarf would choke on his tongue, just so that he would shut up.

Dwalin huffed unsteadily, raising a large hand to wipe tears of amusement from the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry, I am… I just… Well, if anyone else had told me that my best friend would fall in love with a _hobbit_ I probably would have assumed that they were drunk or insane…” He snorted, shaking his head to himself. “ _Mahal_ , if we were in the Blue Mountains I might’ve locked them up for spreadin’ such ludicrous tales about my king…!”

“What’s wrong with Bilbo?” The eldest Durin challenged, scowling and folding his arms across his broad chest. He flexed his knuckles instinctively, ready to defend his hobbit’s honour if the need to should arise.

“Nothin’ is _wrong_ with him Thorin, I just never expected you to like anyone that way – let alone someone who ain’t a dwarf. I mean, he might’ve proved that he’s not quite as gentle as most of his kind are, but he’s still no dwarf.” The bald warrior accepted, raising both of his hands in a gesture of surrender – lest Thorin take offence again. He hadn’t actually intended to insult his childhood friend.

“Maybe that’s why I like him, maybe I’m sick of dwarves.” Thorin joked almost menacingly, reaching a hand out to shove his friend hard. Dwalin laughed loudly but caught himself easily before he could topple over.

“Or maybe you’ve grown too soft-hearted to court another dwarf.” He countered, dodging another poorly aimed shove from the royal dwarf. “See, you’re already gettin’ slow in your old age.” He taunted, laughing uproariously when Thorin huffed and turned to fix his oldest friend with a stern, distinctly unamused glare. “Alright, alright… Somethin’ about likin’ him is botherin’ you. What is it…? Y’know Dis is goin’ to love him, and that your boys already do… What’s the problem?” He entreated, raising a hand to scratch at his coarse and slightly greying beard.

Thorin seemed to deflate visibly at that, sinking into the chair closest to the fire. The two of them were situated in the main meeting room – Thorin reading the contracts and paperwork Balin had left them with whilst he escorted Bard and his newly appointed advisor from the mountain. Dwalin had stayed to ‘protect’ his king, as he often insisted upon doing despite the fact that the mountain only housed their own company and Dain’s most trusted dwarves at that moment in time. No one Thorin thought might want to kill him.

“I just… You’re going to laugh at me again, I know you are, but… I love him, I really do, and it’s terrible because I just don’t deserve him. Mahal must be punishing me, by making me a partner I am so unworthy of and can never be with. He is my One and yet I cannot have him.” The dark-haired dwarf confessed, ignoring the papers scattered along the table behind him in favour of staring into the flames that barely warmed the chamber. His balding companion didn’t reply for a long moment, falling into a chair near Thorin and dismissing how the old wood creaked in protest.

“You’re right, you _don’t_ deserve him.” Dwalin confirmed after a long few minutes of listening to the fire pop and crackle. He noticed Thorin turn abruptly to look at him, clearly shocked that the other dwarf had agreed with him. “S’like I said, he might not be as gentle as other hobbits, but he’s still gentle-folk. You’ve treated him awfully in the past and I don’t know that you deserve forgivin’ for it.”

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better…?” The surly king groused, sounding uncomfortable. He must have expected Dwalin to defend him – to say that he wasn’t as awful as he thought he was. But this was Dwalin, and Thorin should’ve known better than to expect some sugar-coated half-truth from the blunt warrior.

“Would I be your best friend if I lied to you, Thorin? And who said I was done talkin’? Don’t interrupt.” The heavily tattooed dwarf grumbled in complaint, sending a scowl in his king’s direction before looking back to the fire. “I don’t know that you deserve to be forgiven for what you did to him, but this is Bilbo we’re talkin’ about. If anyone will forgive you, it’s him. I heard him and Bofur talkin’ about when you banished him the other night, and the foolish hobbit was _defendin’_ you. Went so far as to say that he deserved to be thrown off of the mountain for what he did.”

“Is _that_ supposed to make me feel better??? That only furthers my point that I don’t deserve him!” Thorin barked, looking even more despaired upon hearing that Bilbo had been defending him to the others. He didn’t deserve such loyalty from anyone – let alone their hobbit. He had caused Bilbo the most damage of them all – physically and mentally. Mahal had blessed them by saving Bilbo’s life, the hobbit should not have survived his injuries and yet he had. It was a miracle, and one Thorin thanked Mahal for every night before he slept.

Thorin knew that he was unworthy of such good fortune.

“My point is, that no matter how badly you treat him, he seems to forgive you. He must care about you a great deal to overlook what a stubborn fool you are, so I don’t think that your feelin’s for him are unrequited.” Dwalin elaborated, sounding exasperated about needing to explain himself further. As though the king were a fool for not grasping his meaning – when the bald warrior was in fact being incredible vague.

As was normal for him.

Thorin stared at his best friend for a long moment, confused. Dwalin was right that Bilbo always managed to forgive him, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was interested in Thorin, did it?

“You think that Bilbo… May have feelings for me?” The king reiterated, just to be sure that he’d not misunderstood.

“I’m sure of it.” The surly warrior confirmed, rolling his eyes to himself. He picked up a chunk of firewood from the basket beside the fire, tugging a dagger from his boot before beginning to carve at the wood in his hand clumsily.

“But we don’t even know that he is… Well, he could only be attracted to hobbits – or only to the opposite gender. I’m no lass.” Thorin dared to point out, raising a hand to scratch at his slowly growing beard. He’d chosen not to continue cutting it now that the mountain was theirs – he no longer had a reason to mourn. Soon it would be long enough to shape and braid, and that would be a good day.

“You could have fooled me. The only way to know is to ask. I swear to Mahal, Thorin, if you don’t talk to him soon _I_ will. It’s drivin’ me mad, seein’ you mope over him.” Dwalin complained loudly, sounding completely exasperated. He struck the wood a little too hard with his blade in frustration, chipping off a large chunk in the process. He cursed in Khuzdul, tossing the ruined piece into the fire.

“Maybe you’re right… I should talk to him.” Thorin accepted, brow furrowing deeply at the thought of Dwalin talking to Bilbo for him. The idea was enough to send a horrified shiver up the king’s spine. Dwalin would hardly be delicate, or subtle. He would probably shout it out in front of the rest of the company, he wasn’t one for being tactful.

“I’m always right.” The warrior groused, trying to salvage what had been going to be a raven sculpture originally.

“I could list a dozen stories from our youth that contradict that statement, friend. Do you know where Bilbo is…?” The eldest Durin laughed throatily, grinning a little at the ludicrous notion that Dwalin was _always_ right. Past experiences said otherwise – Dwalin was more often wrong than he was right.

“Ori told me at lunch that he’s helping in the library today.” Dwalin huffed, scowling but not denying what Thorin had said. He knew his friend would start offering stories to support his claim if Dwalin argued too strongly with it. And Thorin did have _a lot_ of stories.

“…you had lunch with Ori?” Thorin probed, the beginnings of a smirk lighting up his face. That was news. Thorin knew Dwalin was bisexual, he always had been, but _Ori_? Ori was a slight thing, and very bookish. Small for a dwarf, even a dwarf his age. Not the kind of dwarf Dwalin usually favoured. Dwalin was the kind of dwarf who viewed books as kindling, and often used them as kindling – but he was pursuing a _librarian_. An educated young thing who could fight well enough, but would much rather sit before a fire and knit with a cup of tea at his side.

“That’s no concern of yours. Go talk to your hobbit.” The bald dwarf growled, scowling and standing abruptly. “I best go see that your nephews aren’t tearin’ the trainin’ halls apart without me… Kili’s been tryin’ to work a bow with just the one hand, and so far he has lodged some arrows in some very questionable places.”

Thorin frowned at that, standing slowly and brushing his tunic off. It was one of his nicest tunics, dark blue with silver embroidery – he’d worn it for the meeting with Bard, as it made him look particularly regal. Or so Balin would have him believe. His advisor had chosen his outfit, since he had said that Thorin too often dressed himself like a pauper. “Has anybody been hurt?” He asked, worrying what exactly Dwalin meant by ‘questionable places’.

“No, nothin’ like that. Only thing that’s been hurt is the lad’s pride… The sooner we can get the forges going so that Gloin can make him a replacement for his arm, the better.” Dwalin admitted, this time with a gentler frown. They might not have been his nephews, but they were the closest thing Dwalin had ever had to children. He was very fond of them, whether he would say it aloud or not. “I think it’s only just occurrin’ to him how different his life will be now. There’s no shame in missin’ a limb, Fili and I keep remindin’ him, but most dwarves fight with swords and hammers. You need two hands for a bow an’ arrow.”

“I will talk to him myself later… And see what I can do about the forges. Try and talk him into practicing with a crossbow, Dwalin. We should have a one-handed crossbow somewhere in the armoury, they weren’t all that uncommon before Erebor fell. Lots of dwarves lose hands or arms in accidents – we just need to help Kili realise that losing a hand isn’t the worse thing.” Thorin sighed deeply, pushing his hair back with a roughly calloused hand. He’d noticed at breakfast that morning that Kili had seemed a little down, but he just shook his head when Thorin had asked him how he was.

“Aye, that’s true. My uncle lost both of his legs in a minin’ accident – _that_ was hard. He still managed, he became a tinker. Couldn’t go in the mines again of course, but he ended up enjoyin’ tinkerin’ a great deal.” Dwalin insisted with a wave of his hand, lumbering towards the door. He pulled it open forcibly, grimacing when the hinges squealed unsteadily. “Go, chase down your hobbit. I’ll deal with Kili.”

It didn’t take Thorin very long to get to the Library – the route from his meeting room to the library was still the same, as most of the corridors and passages between the two of them were unharmed. Despite how familiar the way was to him, it was one he’d walked many times when his grandfather let him sit in on meetings to learn the politics of their kingdom, it didn’t feel like his home anymore. Not the way it had when he was younger. Everything seemed so familiar, but not in a way that made him feel comfortable. He had always assumed that he would reclaim the mountain and live his happily ever after. But he didn’t think that anymore. That would be too simple – and far too good for him.

He paused outside of the library door, trying to put his thoughts in order and concentrate on the task at hand. He needed to focus, else he might say the wrong thing and spoil everything. He was known for doing that. He pushed the door open, stepping inside and glancing around quickly.

Erebor’s library was a vast, beautiful hall – every wall was lined with books, and there were several comfortable seating areas for visitors to sit down and enjoy the reading material. A huge fireplace was set into one of the closest walls to the entrance, and beside that was the desk where the librarian would usually sit. Neither Ori nor Bilbo were at the desk and Thorin exhaled softly, walking further into the room and glancing down the closest aisle of books. The aisles closest to the entrance were the neatest, but the further Thorin walked into the library the messier it got.

They’d experienced the way the mountain shook whenever Smaug had moved around, it was like an earthquake – the only damage done to the library was from books and shelves falling as Erebor shook. Aside from that it was almost completely unharmed.

He found Bilbo in the very back of the library, carrying a sizeable wooden crate of books. Thorin raised an eyebrow at him, leaning against the nearest set of shelves. “You told me that you would not do any heavy lifting. I don’t think Oin would be best pleased if he could see you now.” He rumbled, frowning when the hobbit startled violently and almost dropped the box. He reached out, one hand steadying Bilbo and the other stopping the crate from tumbling to the floor and crushing the brunet’s furred feet.

“You scared me! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” Bilbo huffed irritably, scowling at the king under the mountain. He lowered the crate back onto the pile against the wall, his movements a little stiff and very cautious. He was wearing a dark green cotton tunic that was far too big for him, pulled in at the waist with a thick brown leather belt.

Thorin swallowed thickly as he took in the sight of his burglar, definitely liking the look on him. Dwarven clothes suited him – even if they were a little big. The way they hung off of the hobbit was very attractive, Thorin thought. It showed off a generous portion of his pale collarbones, though Bilbo’s neck was still covered with a thick fabric brace. The harder neck brace he’d worn before had been removed, but he still needed to wear something to stop him from turning his neck too hard or too fast and disturbing the injury. Especially when he was working.

“My apologies… However, you shouldn’t be lifting those crates - you said you would leave that to Ori.” Thorin reminded Bilbo, clearing his throat and trying _not_ to think about how becoming a tunic looked on the green eyed halfling. Or how incredibly attractive Bilbo might look in one of _Thorin’s_ tunics, and nothing else.

Bilbo had the decency to look guilty about being caught, glancing down at his scratched hands and grimacing. Thorin followed his gaze, frowning deeply and reaching out to catch the hobbit’s hands in his own. He bent his head to examine them, glad to see that the scratches were all superficial. Most of them weren’t even bleeding, Bilbo’s hands were just a bit too soft to carry around such rough wood. “I’m fine…” The brunet reassured him, though he didn’t remove his hands from Thorin’s.  “Ori is busy righting some knocked over shelves – and that’s much heavier work than moving some poxy crates…” He explained, watching closely as Thorin ran his fingers over some of the worse scrapes. The dwarf carefully removed a splinter for him, somehow doing so without causing any discomfort.

“You still should have left it to him. If you put any undue stress on your spine or your neck you could reopen your wound, and then you’ll have to wear that brace for even longer – which I am sure you would not enjoy.” The king under the mountain insisted sternly, squeezing Bilbo’s wrists gently in his hands for a moment before releasing them. Holding the hobbits hands was hardly subtle, and he wanted to talk this out seriously. “If it’s too much work for just the two of you, you should have told me. I can send someone else to help Ori with the heavy lifting, if it’s needed.”

“No, no… I’m sure we can manage; it’ll just take a bit longer. There’s no point in taking dwarves away from roles that they’re better suited to, just because a fussy hobbit doesn’t like feeling useless.” Bilbo sighed, raising a hand to itch under the edge of his neck brace.

“You’re not useless Bilbo-” Thorin began quietly, his eyes full of concern for the brunet in front of him. Bilbo held up a hand to stop him, not wanting Thorin to continue with that sentence. He didn’t need empty reassurances.

“I know, I just… In all honesty Thorin, I don’t feel like I’m of any use here. In the Mountain.” The hobbit confessed in an undertone, avoiding Thorin’s gaze as he did. Out of shame, and no small amount of embarrassment. He’d clearly not spoken to anyone else about this, and it was obvious enough that he’d been thinking about it a lot. He looked troubled.

The royal dwarf frowned softly at Bilbo, his heart clenching unhappily at how sad and ashamed he looked. “How do you mean…? You helped us reclaim Erebor, how can you think you are not of use? Without you, I would be dead on the slopes of the Misty Mountains and Smaug would still live in these halls.” He hummed, sitting on the edge of one of the larger crates as he watched his burglar closely.

“Well… It’s not that… I’m not sure that we’ll ever agree on how useful I was or was not during our quest, but that’s not what I’m referring to.” Bilbo elaborated, sitting on another crate near the dwarven ruler – with his legs dangling rather endearingly over the edge. He was a little too short for his feet to touch the ground when sat. “What I mean is… That I don’t know what I can _do_ here. _If_ I were to stay, how could I be of any use to your people? I can’t mine, I can’t make toys… I’m too physically weak for anything too laborious. What good am I, really? I can cook and I can garden. Neither of those things are going to be particularly useful here, are they?”

“I disagree – I think they’re both very useful. How would we feed everyone if we didn’t have any cooks…? And how would we get food, if no one knew how to farm? Or garden, in your case.” Thorin disputed, reaching out to pat the hobbit’s knee in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “If you want to work, we will find something for you. But you don’t _have_ to work, your share of the treasure from our quest is more than enough to live off of.”

“What work could I do, though? You’ve already said that Bombur will become the head of the kitchens – and I wouldn’t want to take that from him. You said knowing to garden is helpful, but how…? Erebor doesn’t have farms, nor will it. I don’t remember you mentioning any plans to sow seeds around the mountain, even though it is the wrong season to start anything like that.” The brunet pointed out, staring down at the hand on his person with slightly pink cheeks.

Thorin followed his gaze, realising that he was staring at the dwarf’s hand and withdrawing it into his own lap awkwardly. He didn’t want to make Bilbo uncomfortable. He thought about what the other male had said for a long moment, understanding why he was worried. Bilbo didn’t want to feel useless or unneeded – and the dwarven ruler could see how that was a problem, even if he did think it was an unnecessary one. He wanted Bilbo there, he _needed_ Bilbo there. His burglar would never be useless in his eyes.

“We might not have fields of our own, but we will be aiding Dale in rebuilding their farm land. You could help on that front – Dale’s farms are going to be incredibly important to us. Without them our nearest trading partner is almost a week away, and most fresh food will spoil on the way here. You saw Lake-Town; they didn’t have much in the ways of crops on that lake. You could advise Bard and his Men regarding what would be best to plant, and what time of year to plant them. I’m sure they’d appreciate the help, and I would rest easier knowing that someone I care about is overseeing the farms that will feed my people.” He broadcasted, offering the hobbit a warm and kind smile. It was a perfect idea – and the perfect job for Bilbo. Thorin had been intending to assign someone the job of supervising the farms anyway, as it was a job that genuinely needed doing, but he hadn’t decided who yet. He had been considering adding it to Balin’s duties, though the old dwarf had enough on his hands and this made much more sense. “You could be my agricultural consultant. You’re perfect for the job – I saw the gardens and farms in the Shire. They’re some of the most bountiful that I have ever seen, far better than any in the cities of Men. The Men of Lake-Town have never grown crops on such a large scale, they would appreciate the advice. And Erebor always used to work closely with Dale when it came to the farms, we often lent them dwarves to toil hard earth and other laborious activities, on top of overseeing the production of food.” He continued, maintaining eye-contact with the green-eyed male in an attempt to convince him of his sincerity.

Bilbo stared back a little blankly, his lips parted as he thought it through. Thorin could almost see the cogs turning in his mind. “…that sounds… _Important_ …” The brunet allowed, raising a hand to rub at the brace around his neck uncertainly.

“It is. It’s very important, and you are perfect for it. No dwarf in this mountain knows gardening or farming as well as you do. You’re the most qualified person here – I daresay you’re more qualified than any dwarf I could possibly bring in for the job.” Thorin persisted, offering the smaller male a wide and fond smile.

“But… I gardened, with my friend Gaffer. I didn’t _farm_. Sure I grew vegetables, and strawberries, but I didn’t have crops. I’m no professional.” Bilbo dared to point out, looking unsure.

“Farming may be on a larger scale, but is it all that different? The Men will tend to the crops themselves, all you need to do is advise them. Tell them what can be grown in which fields, what can be grown in each season, what needs special care and what doesn’t. I’m not asking you to take care of the crops yourself, just oversee them. You probably know a lot more about growing food than any of the Men in Lake-Town, so your advice will be invaluable. If you choose not to stay, that’s fine, but you could still give them some pointers before you go.” Thorin defended, reaching out again to grab Bilbo’s shoulder gently – as though that would make him listen. “You know that I just want what’s best for you. If you want to leave, I will escort you to the Shire myself on my way to get my sister from the Blue Mountains. But if you do choose to stay, there will be a life for you. You will have the company, you will have the farms… If you’d be more comfortable in the kitchens, I’m sure Bombur would happily take you as his next in command. You’ve got a room, you’ve got friends. You have… _Me_.” He murmured, his smile faltering for a moment. Now was as good a time as any to tell Bilbo how he felt – that had been why he’d come to find him, after all. But even as he met the hobbit’s confused green eyes he couldn’t find it in him to just speak his feelings aloud. “Think about it, okay? You have options. And you have an entire season to decide, there is no rush.” He sighed, a little disappointed in himself for not managing to get through his confession. He didn’t think it would be fair to bring it up whilst trying to talk Bilbo into staying, anyway. He didn’t want to force the hobbit to stay if he didn’t want to, just because the king was madly in love with him.

Thorin smiled kindly at the younger male, squeezing his shoulder before standing. “I have finished with my meetings for the day – if Ori is busy, would you like me to move some of these boxes for you…?”

“Don’t you have king-type-things to be doing?” Bilbo checked, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled widely.

“King-type-things? Is taking care of my favourite hobbit not kingly?” The eldest Durin snorted, one eyebrow arched as he eyed the brunet closely. Bilbo laughed softly in response, standing and brushing off his dust covered trousers.

“Your favourite hobbit? I’d take that as a compliment if I wasn’t the only hobbit you had ever known.” The halfling quipped cheekily, making Thorin chuckle and shake his head in amusement.

“That is a fair point. But it was meant as a compliment. You are one of my closest and dearest friends, and I care a great deal for you.” The king advertised, placing his hands on his hips and glancing between the many stacked crates around them before fixing his eyes on the hobbit once more.

Bilbo blushed all the way to the tips of his ears, raising one hand to rub at his ruddy cheeks in embarrassment. “Okay, okay… I get it. Come on then, there’s a few things I need moving… You can help, so long as you _swear_ that Dwalin and Balin won’t give me any grief for stealing their king away.” He mumbled awkwardly, smiling sheepishly and licking his lips gingerly.

“I swear it to Mahal himself. If anyone will get an ear chewing, it will be me. And frankly, I’d rather a mild scolding than leave you to do this alone. Because I know the second that I leave you’ll start picking these up by yourself again, and you shouldn’t exert yourself.” Thorin hummed, smiling even wider and wrinkling his nose affectionately.

Bilbo exhaled huffily, his face turning impossibly redder as he turned away from the eldest Durin. “Right, fine, pick up that crate that I had before and help me get it to the geography aisle. Whoever used to run this library did a poor job, everything is so disorganised… Why are so many books packed away? They should be out of display, for people to pick up and read-” He rambled, stalking off in what Thorin could only assume was the direction of the geography aisle.

The dwarven king rolled his eyes pointedly, scooping the aforementioned box up in his arms and trailing after the object of his affections. For the first time in a good few years he felt at ease – comfortable, almost.

 _That_ was what Bilbo did to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm sorry that this took so long - the last few months haven't been kind to me. I've been ill, I've been stressed, but I'm better now. Things are leveling out, and as such I'm happy enough and healthy enough to write again.  
> Thank you all for the kind comments, it really has astounded me how many people have given kudos to and commented on my work. It makes me smile every single time I get an email telling me that someone new has dropped me a message, or even just kudos'd my work. It's great, you're the best readers I could possibly ask for :)  
> I'm sorry that this chapter is a little shorter than usual, but the end felt like the right place to cut it and I really wanted to get this out to you all as soon as possible. It's taken me long enough to finish and post this much for you!
> 
> If you would like frequent updates on the progress of this fic or my other fic, 'No Respectable Young Lady', you can follow me on Sad-Little-Acorn.tumblr.com


	6. Consoling the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this took so long! I've had a lot going on lately, but here it is! Chapter six! I hope it doesn't disappoint, thank you for being so patient with me.

All in all, Thorin had ended up having a _remarkably_ pleasant day.

It may have started with some mind-numbingly boring meetings, and a rather uncomfortable talk with Dwalin about his feelings for Bilbo, but the afternoon had made up for all of that and sent the king to bed with a wide smile on his face.

With Bilbo’s guidance, Thorin had managed to move all of the remaining crates into their correct aisles for the hobbit so that he wouldn’t try to do it himself. The conversation had been easy, and even when they had not been talking the silence was comfortable rather than stifling. The royal dwarf had thoroughly enjoyed helping his burglar, even if Bilbo could be a little bossy at times. He kind of liked the hobbit’s attitude – he found it charming. And he _loved_ that the brunet was not afraid to speak his mind, for the most part. He could be very blunt, and he never tiptoed around Thorin just because he was king.

The eldest Durin appreciated that a great deal.

The king under the mountain had ended up getting to spend almost the entire day with Bilbo, as neither Dwalin nor Balin had thought it wise to disturb him. Both of them had come to check up on him in the library at some point, but other than a very smug smile from Dwalin neither of them had commented on their ruler’s decision to help out in the library all evening.

Dinner had also been a pleasant affair that day, as more supplies had arrived from the Iron Hills and the mountain finally contained a healthy stock of food to last them through the winter. Their meal had been a hearty meat broth and pasta dish, cooked for them all by their favourite ginger-haired chef.

Thorin had retired to bed a little later than usual, said his usual prayers to Mahal – thanking him for saving Bilbo and the boys – before settling down to sleep. Unfortunately, his cheer had not lasted much longer than that, and a truly terrifying nightmare had roused him only a few hours later.

“ ** _No_**!” He cried to himself, his voice rough with sleep and ragged with anguish as he fought to untangle himself from the furs and blankets on his bed. He tumbled from the bed, knocking over his nightstand in the process but rising to his feet quickly. “No, no… No, no, _no!_ ” He all-but sobbed, each breath a strained gasp for air as he raised both hands to palm agitatedly at his own eyes.

He could still see it clearly in his mind. Bilbo’s limp, broken body on the battlefield – pale with death. He had sacrificed himself for Thorin and been killed for it, struck with arrows and swords alike as he made himself a living shield for the king who did not deserve his loyalty. In his dream Thorin had watched the life drain from his hobbit’s eyes whilst he begged the burglar to stay in between sobs. He had told him that he had loved him, he had kissed him with every ounce of strength that he could muster – but Bilbo had still died. Thorin could do nothing to save him; he had bled out too quickly to be taken to the tents.

The king fisted his hands in his hair, falling to his knees beside his bed and tugging harshly at his own braids in an attempt to ground himself with the pain. He knew it wasn’t real, he knew Bilbo was safe and probably asleep in the next room, but it had _felt_ real and that had been enough to scare the dwarven ruler senseless.

What if it had been true? What if Bilbo really had died? The thought alone made Thorin feel sick to his stomach, and he breathed in sharply. What if Bilbo had died, without Thorin ever telling him how he felt? Without the dwarven ruler ever having a chance to hold him and kiss him like he longed to?

He jumped when a quiet knocking sounded at his door, rattled enough from his dream that even the small noise managed to startle him.

“Thorin…? Thorin, it’s Bilbo. Are you alright?” A soft, concerned voice called to him from outside his room, somehow making him feel even worse.

Had he woken the hobbit? He had honestly been so panicked when he had woken that he couldn’t help yelling, but that didn’t make him feel any less guilty about disturbing the brunet living in the room beside his own.

Thorin stood slowly, his hair in disarray and his lashes damp with tears as he walked to the door. He opened it slowly, his chest still heaving as he fought to breathe normally. His burglar stood on the other side of the door dressed only in a brown sleep-shirt that was many sizes too big for him, his green eyes wide with worry as he stared up at the bedraggled king.

The sight of him made Thorin’s heart clench painfully, and without thinking he reached out to grab hold of the brunet. He pulled Bilbo into his chest, wrapping his arms securely around the hobbit’s shoulders and pressing his face into his curls. “ _Bilbo_ …” He breathed hoarsely, too relieved about seeing the ‘youngest’ member of his company safe and sound to worry about something as simple as answering the hobbit’s questions just yet. “Azyungel, amrâlimê…” He whispered to himself, safe in the knowledge that Bilbo did not know what either of those words meant, inhaling his burglar’s scent and shuddering slightly against him. Bilbo smelled warm, of cinnamon and nutmeg and the honey soap he used when he bathed. The familiarity of it was enough to help him calm his breathing, his chest no longer heaving unsteadily. He knew he was being selfish, holding Bilbo and talking to him in such a way, but he needed some form of comfort. Some small amount of self-indulgence.

The hobbit slowly snaked his arms around Thorin’s middle, hugging him back carefully. “I’m here, Thorin, you’re _okay_ … What’s wrong…?” Bilbo probed gently, patting the larger male’s back softly.

Thorin stepped back slowly, keeping his hands on the hobbit’s shoulders as he eyed him up and down - reassuring himself that the brunet really was there. His eyes lingered for a long moment on the soft neck brace that Bilbo had put on for bed, his expression turning sad at the sight of it. He slipped one hand along Bilbo’s shoulder and up his neck, resting his palm carefully over the burglar’s stitched wound. It was a reminder of how close the hobbit had come to dying for him, and he would never stop owing Bilbo for the way he had risked his life to save him. He hoped to one day repay his friend for such outstanding loyalty.  “Did I wake you…?” He asked, not answering or even acknowledging Bilbo’s query. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell his burglar what had happened, for fear of sounding pathetic. He wasn’t some new-born dwarfling; he shouldn’t let his nightmares bother him so much.

“No, I was still awake… Reading and drinking some tea. Are _you_ okay, Thorin? You sounded terribly frightened; I wanted to make sure that you were alright.” The hobbit hummed quietly in response, meeting the king’s traumatised blue eyes and regarding him closely. “What happened?” He wondered, sounding as though he genuinely cared. Thorin didn’t know what he’d done in his life to deserve such a wonderful friend. The broad dwarf frowned softly, opening his mouth to offer some kind of empty reassurance that there was nothing wrong when Bilbo raised an eyebrow pointedly at him. “ _Thorin_.” He probed, his voice firm but no less concerned. “Are we not close enough for you to confide in me…? You know that I’ll never laugh at you, you can talk to me. It’s not healthy to bottle up your emotions – my mother told me as much.”

“She did?” Thorin confirmed with a gentle smile, stepping aside to let the hobbit come inside.

Bilbo entered without hesitation, pushing the door closed behind him before turning to face his friend and ruler again. “She did. And I’ll have you know that Belladonna Took was an incredibly wise lady. She once told me that those who bottle up their feelings become terribly emotionally constipated.” He persisted, moving to stoke the fire. He added a couple of extra logs, hoping to rekindle the dwindling flames. He expected to be talking to Thorin for a while, and he might as well be warm whilst doing so.

The dwarven king watched Bilbo fondly as he made himself at home in the larger male’s room, settling into an armchair by the fire and levelling the blue-eyed ruler with an expectant stare. “It sounds as though your mother and my mother would have gotten along.” Thorin shared, padding over to the handsome hobbit. He decided to sit on the floor at the hobbit’s feet rather than take the other chair, needing to be close to him. He still felt quite sad and breathless, thoroughly disturbed by his nightmare. “She used to say something similar to my father, since he could be quite closed off at times.” He elaborated, tentatively resting his chin against one of Bilbo’s knees. It was quite intimate, he knew it was, but he couldn’t help himself. Being able to feel and see the brunet soothed him.

Bilbo didn’t react negatively to the contact between the two of them – he didn’t even freeze up or comment on their closeness. Instead he began to comb his fingers through the tangles in the king’s dark hair, mindful not to touch any of his braids. He knew how sensitive dwarves were about their hair and beards, and he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. “She wasn’t wrong.” Bilbo pointed out, separating any knots he found in Thorin’s hair as gently as he could.

The two of them sat in silence for a long while, with Bilbo combing and stroking the broad dwarf’s hair all the while. The hobbit didn’t ask for an explanation again, patiently waiting for Thorin to offer the information freely. He didn’t want to push the ruler into talking if he didn’t want to.

“…I am sorry for disturbing your tea.” Thorin entreated after a while, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment. He felt much more at ease, comfortable and warm in front of the fire with his burglar.

Bilbo smiled kindly down at him, not rolling his eyes or even making a sarcastic comment in response. “It’s quite alright. I drink enough tea as it is. My father used to say that there was nothing a good cup of tea couldn’t cure.” He accepted, very cautiously picking up one of Thorin’s thick braids and glancing down at the king to be sure that he didn’t mind.

The royal dwarf met his gaze steadily, bobbing his head gently so that Bilbo knew that it was okay. That he could touch his braids if he liked. Hair braiding and hair brushing was considered very intimate amongst dwarves – you only let your family and your intended touch your hair, but Thorin loved Bilbo. Of course he didn’t mind the hobbit touching his hair. “Was he right?” The dwarf asked curiously, continuing the conversation. “I wouldn’t know; I can’t say I’ve ever had tea myself. Dwalin calls it leaf-water.”

“Hm?” The brunet startled, blinking twice before remembering what they had been talking about. He had been distracted by the thick braid in his grip, wrapping it around his hand, but being mindful not to pull on it. “Oh, of course not. I mean, I do find drinking tea to be quite soothing, but… Saying that it can fix anything is a bit much.” He answered, shrugging to himself. “His sickness still took him from us, regardless of how much tea he drank. And he drank a lot more of it than I ever did.” He added with a soft frown, wrinkling his nose unhappily. “As for Dwalin… He best not say that around Ori. All of the Ri brothers are quite fond of their tea… Balin too, actually. You should try it sometime, though. It really is pleasant. You can add milk and sugar; it doesn’t have to just be ‘ _leaf-water_ ’, as Dwalin so eloquently refers to it.” He snorted softly, seeming a little distracted after the subject of his father arose.

“…what happened? If you do not mind me asking.” Thorin inquired, having always wondered what had happened to Bilbo’s family. Hobbits were a peaceful folk, he knew that, so it seemed so strange for Bilbo to be an orphan. According to Gandalf his parents hadn’t even died recently, so he had been reasonably young when it had happened. Thorin knew exactly how much it hurt to lose family so young, regardless of how it happened. That it hadn’t happened during some heroic fight would offer Bilbo no comfort.

“To my father…?” The hobbit checked, looking surprised that the blue-eyed dwarf had asked. None of the company had ever asked about his family in all the time that they had known him – not even Kili, and he wasn’t the best at being subtle or mindful. “He died not long after I came of age, about twenty years before his time. It was sickness that took him… Though we’re not sure exactly what sickness. It was persistent, whatever it was, and our healers couldn’t treat it… We called for a healer from Rivendell, but it worked through him so quickly that he died before they could get to us. One day he was fine, the next day he was complaining of aches in his bones and blinding pain in his head… He was bedridden within a few short weeks, and not long after that he passed away in his sleep. Which actually came as a relief, even if that sounds awful of me to say. He was in a lot of pain, and there was nothing that we could do… I was just glad that he wasn’t suffering anymore.” He admitted, not sure why they were discussing this but answering Thorin’s questions anyway. It didn’t hurt to be honest. “Not to mention that it destroyed my mother, watching him waste away like that. She was always the strongest of the family, but you can’t watch someone you love fade away like that and be okay.”

Thorin nodded slowly, frowning as he did. That sounded awful. He couldn’t imagine watching someone suffer and waste away like that – his brother, mother and grandfather had all been blessed with reasonably quick deaths. As for his father, Thorin didn’t know how he had died. Or _if_ he had died, though it did seem likely. “It’s not awful of you to say that, I understand…” He reassured the hobbit, not wanting him to think that Thorin was judging him. He wasn’t, he thought he knew what Bilbo meant. Bilbo had known that there was no way to ease his father’s suffering, so it was a relief to have him pass somewhat peacefully in his sleep. That was much better than him dying screaming in agony in front of his wife and son, Thorin was sure.  “Is sickness uncommon amongst hobbits, then?” He wondered aloud, tilting his head so that he could look Bilbo in the face whilst he spoke. He wanted to know the brunet better, to listen to him talk about his family and his life in the Shire. So much of Bilbo’s life was still a mystery to the dwarves, despite the year they’d spent travelling with him. The hobbit could be very closed off – though Thorin couldn’t help but wonder if that was because the company just hadn’t asked enough about him. They’d hardly been the most welcoming to begin with – it wasn’t as though they’d asked him a lot about his personal life. Bofur and Ori had asked a few questions about hobbits as a race, out of curiosity, but that was it really.

“Well, no, not really. We suffer from colds and the flu, things like that, but serious illnesses… They’re less common. Most hobbits die of old age, around the one-hundred-year mark. We’re rarely ever killed – by disease or violence.” Bilbo explained, licking his bottom lip and settling back into the comfortable chair. He gently twirled one of Thorin’s braids around in his hand, an idle motion that Thorin was actually quite enjoying. He liked having Bilbo touch his hair. “When I was around twenty-one years old, there was a year-long winter in the Shire. We called it the Fell Winter, and it was… _Awful_. We ran out of food, wolves and orcs attacked us for the first time in decades… A fair few hobbits died then, but that was the most violence we’d seen in a long while.” He elaborated, shuddering a little at the memory. It had been a terrible, terrible year.

“…do you ever dream about it?” Thorin breathed, blinking up at the green-eyed hobbit.

“About the Fell Winter? I used to, when I was younger. Before my father died I used to have nightmares about those wolves… I used to dream of them getting into Bag End and slaughtering my parents, since their bedroom was the closest to the front of our smial.” Bilbo confessed, scratching absent-mindedly at Thorin’s scalp as he spoke. “They were great big things, those wolves… And when I was younger, they seemed so _evil_. Like they had come out of the darkness _just_ to terrorize Hobbiton, but I know now that that wasn’t the case. It was a hard winter, and they were as hungry as we were. The wolves didn’t have an agenda; they didn’t kill any of us for the pleasure of it. They just needed to eat.” He reasoned, glancing at the warm fire as it crackled and popped in front of the two of them. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still not all that fond of wolves, I’ve just realised that there are better things to be frightened of. After my father died my nightmares were mostly about sickness and suffering, because that was a much more logical fear – in my mind. I had watched my father wither away before my eyes, and that was terrifying. I was barely an adult, it scarred me. And now… Now my nightmares are mostly about our quest and what could have gone wrong. I’ve even dreamed about what could have happened if I hadn’t gotten to you in time during the Battle of the five armies…” He said with a shudder, his expression _haunted_.

Thorin blinked hard at that, surprised. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Bilbo might suffer from the exact same nightmares that he did. Dreams about the battle and everything that could have gone wrong. “Really?” He checked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

“Why is that shocking…? Do you think that I jumped in front of that arrow for the good of my _own_ health? I couldn’t watch you die out there, Thorin. Not when you’d come so far.” Bilbo pointed out, fingers stilling when he realised that he was essentially petting the king under the mountain like a large house-cat. “We might have fought beforehand, but that didn’t stop me caring about you. I didn’t travel with you for an entire year to abandon you when you needed me most.” He defended, as though Thorin doubted his loyalty – though that was not the case. At all.

“Bilbo, it’s not that. I’m just surprised because… I have been having similar nightmares.” Thorin tried to comfort the hobbit, raising one hand to gently grip the brunet’s ankle and give it a reassuring squeeze. “I woke up tonight because I’d had a dream about losing you. I dreamed that you bled out on the battlefield, before I could take you to the healing tents.” He divulged, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth a little as Bilbo just stared back in response. He left out the part where he had kissed Bilbo in the dream, because now wasn’t really the time to bring up his feelings for the hobbit.

The silence seemed to stretch on for hours, though it was probably less than ten minutes in reality. The hobbit just stared down at Thorin, flabbergasted, with his lips parted in shock. He clearly hadn’t been expecting that from the dwarf in his lap, his indignation completely derailed by what the king had just said. “…that was why you were yelling? You sounded so _distressed_.” He faltered - his voice barely more than a whisper as he blinked a little damply at Thorin. His eyelashes looked wet, like he was on the verge of tears. The sight tugged at Thorin’s heart strings, and he reached up to gently wipe a thumb under each of the hobbit’s eyes in turn to catch the moisture there. His own eyes flickered to the soft brace encircling the hobbit’s neck and he sighed deeply, brow creased in worry.

“Yes, it was… I have never been great at handling nightmares. It usually takes me a while to wake up and realise that they are not real. I was upset.” He imparted, leaving his hand cupping the younger male’s cheek. “The night you got shot, Bilbo, I sat awake with you all night. I never wanted you to die for me – and dreaming about you dying for me… It was unbearable. I won’t lie, tonight wasn’t the first time I’ve had this kind of dream. Most of my nightmares revolve around losing my nephews, losing you or losing my sister. I’ve already lost my brother, my father, both of my grandparents and my mother. I lose everyone I care about Bilbo, and that _scares_ me.” He agonized, beginning to well up a little himself. He sighed deeply, removing his hand from his hobbit’s cheek so that he could rub miserably at his own eyes. “I am sorry – this isn’t your problem.”

Bilbo seized Thorin’s hand without any prompting, closing both of his own around the calloused appendage. “ _Thorin_.” He began a little sternly, though his expression was soft and kind as he stared down at the considerably larger male. “I said that you could talk to me, did I not? You are perhaps my closest friend, and I care a great deal for you. Your problems are my problems.” He dictated, offering the dwarf below him a warm smile. “And after everything that you did for me in the library today, I’m sure that I owe you.” He added in jest, smiling wider and squeezing the hand in his grasp. “In all seriousness, if you ever do need me… If you’re stressed, or you’ve had another nightmare, or you just want to talk… You’re welcome to come find me. I’m here for you; you’re not going to lose me.”

Thorin stared at the brunet for a long moment, not really sure how to take that. His heart ached with longing, and he wanted nothing more than to pull Bilbo into his chest and shower him with attention – but that would not be appropriate. He didn’t want to ruin such a good friendship by doing something quite so rash. “…thank you, Bilbo. That means a lot to me.” He croaked, raising his free hand to scratch a bearded cheek. “I will remember that… And next time, I shall try not to yell. I’d hate to wake you, or my nephews.”

“That would be a neat trick, Thorin. You know as well as I do that those two sleep like the dead.” Bilbo mused, wincing at his own choice of words when he saw the dwarven king stiffen minutely. “Sorry, you know what I meant… Fili and Kili could sleep through anything, and anyway… I wouldn’t mind being woken up, if it meant that I could help you.  I know what it’s like to wake up from a nightmare and feel alone, it’s unpleasant. I lived by myself for almost ten years after my mother died.” He sighed, slowly releasing Thorin’s hands and beginning to rub at the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “In any case, I should let you get back to sleep. I am sure that you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Doing king-type-things.” He said, only adding the last part as a weak attempt at humour – hoping he could make the king laugh the way he had in the library earlier.

Thorin would have smiled at the thoughtful joke, but he was far too concerned by the idea of having Bilbo leave. He didn’t want the hobbit to go, even if it was for his own benefit. “No – stay.” He beseeched, not wanting to be alone again. The nightmare would probably return the moment he went back to sleep, and Bilbo was right. He had felt alone when he had woken up, and that had made his initial terror harder to overcome.

The gentlemanly hobbit frowned softly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “You want me to stay…?” He asked, just to be sure that he had understood what exactly Thorin was asking of him.

The king nodded in response, wanting to add that he never wanted Bilbo to leave – that the hobbit should stay in the mountain, in the king’s chamber, for the rest of his life. But that was a big ask, and incredibly selfish of him. “Please, azyungel.” He implored, closing his eyes and pressing his face into the hobbit’s clothed leg.

“Okay, I will.” Bilbo comforted, burying his hands in the dwarf’s thick hair once more and continuing to run his fingers through the dark tresses.

-

After that night, staying in Thorin’s chambers became a regular thing for Bilbo. For the first few days he went back to his own room and settled into his own bed just like he had every other night that he had been living in the mountain, but after several more nightmares it just became easier to get changed into his night clothes and head straight to the king’s room at night. He decided to take the secret passage each time, not wanting to arouse suspicion if Fili, Kili or anyone else spotted him in the hallway late at night.

Bilbo told himself that he was just doing it to help out his friend, except that wasn’t _entirely_ true.

He did want to help Thorin, and he knew that it _was_ helping Thorin, but he enjoyed their nights together too. The morning after the first night they had spent together Bilbo woke up first, still sat in the same armchair in front of the fire with Thorin’s head in his lap. The greying dwarf had been out cold, his face slack and peaceful in sleep. Bilbo had thought that he couldn’t possibly be comfortable, asleep cross-legged on the floor, but it was still early and he couldn’t bring himself to wake the king under the mountain when he looked so at ease.

When Thorin had woken up a short while later, he had told the hobbit that it was the best night’s sleep that he’d had in months.

After a week, Bilbo found himself going to Thorin’s room every single night, and he even managed to get the king to partake in a cup of tea whilst they talked before bed.

There was no doubt that the dwarf slept better with Bilbo around, he said as much himself, but he still suffered nightmares every few nights. Sometimes he woke up screaming, sometimes he didn’t even make a sound, but the brunet was always there for him no matter what.

Bilbo wasn’t quite sure what to make of their situation, it was confusing to say the least, but it was nice. He wouldn’t talk to anyone about it, because Thorin trusted him enough to confide in him. He was the only one who got to see the king of the dwarves so weak, and that was a privilege. He could hardly blab to Ori or Bofur about it, and gossip about the eldest Durin like some blasted Sackville-Baggins. He was a much better friend than that, and it was quite nice to just keep it between the two of them anyway. It was _their_ thing.

Nobody else had to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me and semi-regular posts about the progress of my fics on my tumblr sad-little-acorn.tumblr.com
> 
> I'm actually already half way through writing chapter seven for this, because my creative juices were really flowing, so hopefully it won't be too long until I have the next update up! I am going to try to update my other fic in the meantime though, so there might be a wait.  
> We'll see how it goes!
> 
> If you spot any errors in this chapter, please let me know - I won't be offended. I no longer have a beta reader, and I'm really quite terrible at proof reading my own work. The more I re-read anything that I write, the more I want to destroy it!  
> Thank you for reading, anyway! Kudos, comments and bookmarks are always appreciated <3


	7. Inconvenient Admiration

Balin was one of the few individuals allowed to enter Thorin’s chambers without permission, which was just as well really – since the eldest Durin had not turned up to his meeting that morning.

It was incredibly unlike Thorin to sleep in so late – so unlike him, in fact, that Balin had checked everywhere else that the king might be first. He had thought that maybe the dwarven ruler had lost track of time in the library again, as he had done so many times that week whilst visiting Bilbo, but when he had checked the library Ori had told him that neither Thorin nor Bilbo had been in that morning.

It was almost amusing, watching Thorin dance around the hobbit the way that he did, but Balin was just happy to see his king more at ease. It had been a very long time since he had seen the royal dwarf smiling so genuinely, since he always seemed so troubled. Even after reclaiming the mountain he had still looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but in the last six or seven days the elderly advisor had noticed a lot of changes in his oldest friend. Thorin always seemed much better rested whenever he saw him, and the dark-haired dwarf’s mood had improved tenfold.

Balin wasn’t a fool; he knew what was doing it. It was Bilbo. He wasn’t sure exactly how the hobbit was making such a difference, since it didn’t look like he and Thorin had actually discussed their _painfully obvious_ feelings for each other yet, but he was making a difference nonetheless. The more time he spent with the king, the better mood the king seemed to be in. The better mood they _both_ seemed to be in, since Bilbo had actually been quite withdrawn ever since the battle. They had all put it down to shock or trauma, since that seemed the most likely cause of their burglar’s change in character, but he was improving. He didn’t just hang around with Ori anymore, he would talk to Oin about more than his own health, invite Balin to his rooms for tea some evenings and even fawn over Erebor’s princes when they weren’t too busy training.

He was beginning to open up again.

It warmed Balin’s heart to see it. Bilbo and Thorin were so _good_ for each other, and the sooner they admitted how they felt about each other the better.

The eldest son of Fundin sighed quietly as he let himself into the king’s rooms, shutting the door quietly behind him. The room was dark, with not a lit candle in sight, and the white-haired dwarf pulled his winter tunic tighter around himself to combat the chill in the room. The fire had long since burned out, not even alight with embers. He doubted that anyone had touched it since the evening before. Balin frowned at that, walking to the set of armchairs closest to the fire to investigate. A tray rested on the table between the armchairs, holding two empty tea cups and a no-doubt equally empty tea pot, surprising the royal advisor. Thorin didn’t drink tea – he knew that. He called it ‘leaf-water’, just like Dwalin did.

Sometimes Balin couldn’t help wondering if Dwalin was actually Thorin’s younger brother rather than his own, since the two were far more alike. Thick as thieves, they were.

Resting over the fire grate was a dark green tunic that was far too small for a dwarf as broad and as tall as Thorin was – probably too small even for young Ori, who was very slight by dwarven standards. Balin reached out to touch a strange discoloured mark on the tunic, shaking his head slowly and glancing in the general direction of Thorin’s bed. He wasn’t an idiot, there was only one being living in the mountain small enough to fit into such a tiny outfit and that was Bilbo.

Their resident hobbit, who was known to enjoy a pot of tea in the evenings.

Balin rolled his eyes to himself, raising a hand to rub hard at the crease in his brow. “How _old_ are you, Thorin?” He muttered wearily under his breath, padding towards the bed. Whilst he did not want to see anything that he shouldn’t in that bed, he really did need to wake Thorin up. They had another meeting scheduled for that afternoon, and they needed to prepare. The king could not stay in bed with his hobbit all day, even if he did want to. Balin just wished that Thorin had woken up when he had knocked on the door, so that he hadn’t needed to come in at all. Some things were better off left to the imagination, after all. “I would expect this of Kili and his elf, _not_ of a king about twenty years my junior…” He grumbled, righting a knocked over nightstand as he approached. “Mahal have mercy on you if you aren’t dressed, Thorin, I am too old to be seeing such things.” He forewarned, even though he knew full well that the dwarven ruler had to be fast asleep. He reached out with both hands, since his wrist had finally healed enough to remove his cast, and pulled the curtains that surrounded the four-poster bed open at one side.

Balin breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the two of them, glad to see that they were both dressed. Thorin was wearing a pair of loosely fitting cotton trousers and naught else, but that was still a mercy in and of itself. It was hardly the first time that Balin had seen Thorin’s bare-chest, after all. Bilbo was wearing a dark blue sleep shirt that was instantly recognisable as Thorin’s, decorated with the same simple silver embroidery that covered most of the royal dwarf’s clothes. The neck-hole hung loosely off of one of his shoulders, _much_ too big for him.

Bilbo was lying on the side of the bed closest to Balin, facing the elderly dwarf with a slack and peaceful expression. Oin had demanded that he carry on wearing a fabric neck brace during the night for a while, just in case, but during the day Bilbo no longer had to wear one at all. Not even bandages if he didn’t want to, though he had taken to wearing a variety of thick scarves instead. Bilbo claimed that he only wore them because it was cold, but Balin suspected that he just didn’t like his new scar being on show. A few members of the company had assumed the same, though it was a source of much confusion for most of them. Dwarves tended to flaunt their scars with pride, proud of any marks of battle - in their culture it seemed odd for anyone to hide a scar on purpose.

Whatever the reason, nobody questioned it. It clearly bothered Bilbo, and that was enough to make even the most tactless members of the company leave it be.

One of Thorin’s arms was wrapped gently around the hobbit’s middle, and his head was resting on the brunet’s shoulder with his face pressed into the younger male’s curls. Balin hated to separate them, since it actually was quite a serene scene to look upon, but he cleared his throat pointedly and folded his arms across his chest instead. No amount of cuddling would change the fact that there was business to attend to.

Thorin frowned softly, his brow furrowing as he fought to stay asleep. His advisor cleared his throat again, louder this time, and Thorin exhaled heavily in response. His bright blue eyes opened slowly, and he shifted closer to Bilbo without even thinking as he blinked up at the dwarf standing beside the bed. He stiffened when he had woken up enough to recognise who it was, cheeks turning ruddy when he realised that Balin had caught him in bed with their burglar.

Balin raised an eyebrow challengingly at him, tilting his head to one side. “Good morning, _King_ Thorin.” He crowed with no small amount of amusement, smiling crookedly as he watched his ruler carefully untangle himself from the hobbit and sit up in the bed. Bilbo remained dead to the world, fast asleep amongst the vast collection of furs on the bed. “You missed a meeting with King Thranduil this morning, and he is not best pleased about it. I asked him to come back later this afternoon, but I expect he will be in a foul mood when he returns. Maybe I should tell him that you would rather spend your time ‘ _consulting_ ’ with Master Baggins when you should be seeing him?” He remarked, stepping away from the bed as Thorin clambered out of the other side. He was only teasing of course; he would never shame the dwarven king that way. What kind of royal advisor would he be if he did?

Thorin grimaced fiercely, closing the curtains around the bed again and waving his hand in a gesture for Balin to follow him away from Bilbo’s sleeping form. The white-haired dwarf followed obediently, watching as Thorin carefully added some new logs to the fireplace and set them alight. He moved Bilbo’s tunic onto the back of the nearest chair, glancing back over at the bed as he did. “Balin, you must believe me when I say that this is not what it looks like.” He murmured quietly, smoothing the creases out of the small green outfit absent-mindedly with one hand.

“Do not take me for a fool Thorin, I was young once.  Although I must say, at your age I was past secret relationships and ignoring my duties.” Balin scolded mildly, though there was no real malice in his tone. It might have been a surprise to find Bilbo asleep in the king’s bed, but it was not a surprise that the two of them were together. They had been making eyes at each other for at least six months already, and every single member of the company could tell that they liked each other. Even Gandalf, if his ever-knowing smile was anything to go off of. “I just caught the two of you wrapped around each other in your bed, Thorin – and he’s wearing _your_ clothes! You cannot tell me that this is not _exactly_ what it looks like. You need not worry, I won’t tell anyone what I saw, but you really do need to master the art of subtlety if you’re intending on keeping your relationship a secret. I almost sent Dwalin up here to find you, can you imagine what would have happened if _he_ had seen you?” He sighed in exasperation, picking up the bellow beside the fireplace and kneeling down to help get the fire going with it.

Thorin groaned tensely, walking to his wardrobe to pick out an official looking outfit to wear that day. “I am not trying to fool you, Balin, it really isn’t what it looks like. Bilbo is wearing my sleepshirt because he spilled tea on his own last night – that’s all. I can assure you that nothing…  _Indecent_ happened between us.” He tried to explain, though that still didn’t explain what the two of them were doing sharing a bed.

“Then why is he in your bed? The way the two of you were embracing did not look particularly platonic, if you ask me.” Balin hastened to point out, levelling the king with a stern stare. He was getting a little fed up, as he did not appreciating being lied to. He was Thorin’s advisor and his friend – the king should feel comfortable enough to confide in him.

The eldest Durin frowned deeply, turning his back to Balin as he tugged on one of his fancier tunics over his head. “I understand that it looks suspicious, but I am not lying to you, Balin. _Sometimes_ … Sometimes Bilbo spends the night here, because I suffer from nightmares. He heard me yelling one night, and ever since then he has been coming to my room to help me through them. He usually sleeps in one of the armchairs by the fire if it gets too late, but it was particularly cold last night and I moved him into the bed after he fell asleep because he was shivering. Nothing happened, I swear it before Mahal.” He admitted, sounding like it pained him to have to explain himself.

Suddenly, everything made a great deal of sense. Thorin’s improving mood, that he always seemed so well rested as of late… Balin had caught Thorin crying out in his sleep before, but that had been when they were on the road and he had assumed that the same nightmares no longer plagued the royal dwarf’s mind. Apparently, he had been wrong, and Thorin had started to rely on Bilbo for comfort whenever he needed it. Balin felt awful for not having picked up on the fact that the king was suffering, especially as he _had_ noticed how troubled the dark-haired dwarf had seemed until very recently. “ _Mahal_ , Thorin… You should have said. Does Dwalin know?” The advisor breathed, putting the bellow down and standing.

Thorin scoffed loudly, pausing only to check that the noise had not woken Bilbo before replying. Luckily there were no sounds of movement from the bed. “Of course not. I doubt very much that Dwalin understands what it is like to suffer from nightmares; he couldn’t help even if he wanted to. But Bilbo… Bilbo knows what it’s like to endure such terrifying dreams, and he helps. He always manages to calm me down, no matter how bad I get.” He muttered, straightening his tunic before slipping his night-trousers off. Balin averted his eyes politely, turning to face the door that lead out into the hall.

“You would be surprised what my brother understands, Thorin. I don’t doubt Bilbo’s skills in soothing you, but he’s not the only one that you can talk to. You have me, and if you think Dwalin would not understand you clearly don’t remember what he was like in his youth. Stubborn and foolhardy, yes, but he too suffered from bad dreams after the Battle of Azanulbizar. Just because he doesn’t wake up screaming or talk about it doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.” Balin reminded their ruler, facing the king once again when he heard him sit down in one of the armchairs. The white-haired dwarf took the other armchair, watching as Thorin pulled his heavy black boots on.

“I suppose you’re right, Balin. As always.” Thorin mused, smiling tiredly at the older dwarf. “But I didn’t intend to talk to _anyone_ about this, not even Bilbo. I know that almost everyone suffers from nightmares at some point in their life, but they deal with it all by themselves. What does it say about me that I cannot?”

“It says nothing about you, Thorin. I am almost certain that everyone who suffers from nightmares confides in somebody when it becomes too much for them. Anyone who denies doing so is a liar. Dwalin did. He will kill me if he finds out that I told you this, so please don’t tell him that I did, but he used to come to me whenever he was frightened or overwhelmed. He’s gotten better in his old age, but I expect that is out of stubbornness and pride more than anything else. Maybe he doesn’t have nightmares anymore, I wouldn’t know, but I can tell you that I do. I have nightmares, and when they bother me I talk about them with somebody I care about. Usually Dwalin or Dori. I don’t hide away and smother my feelings, that would be _terribly_ unhealthy.” Balin argued obstinately, not about to let Thorin put himself down. The king of Erebor had been through an awful lot in his life, and there was nothing wrong with him feeling overwhelmed by it sometimes. It was a healthy reaction. Balin would be more worried if it _didn’t_ bother him. “Sometimes I wonder how you became quite so closed off, Thorin, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Your father was exactly the same, and so was your grandfather. Try not to follow in their footsteps – it’s not like it worked out for either of them. Mahal rest their souls.” He said in warning, reaching out to pat the dark-haired dwarf on the shoulder. He stood slowly, striding to the door. “We should get going if we’re going to make our next meeting. Would you like to leave Bilbo a note…?”

Thorin nodded mutely, seeming to mull over what Balin had said rather than answering verbally. He walked to his desk at the other side of the room, writing the hobbit a note explaining his absence on a spare piece of parchment and leaving it on top of the brunet’s stained green tunic. “Let’s go – and not a word of this to anyone, Balin, please.” He requested, checking that his comb remained inside the pocket of his coat before shrugging it on over his tunic. “Not even Dwalin. You know as well as I do that he won’t believe me as easily as you, and he is a terrible gossip. He’ll have half of the mountain believing that Bilbo and I are involved by this time tomorrow.”

“I won’t tell him, but my brother is right about Bilbo, you know. You should tell him how you feel.” Balin accepted, opening the door and stepping aside to let Thorin exit first.

-

_Bilbo,_

_I must apologise for leaving whilst you were still sleeping,_

_but Balin came to inform me that I slept through a_

_meeting with our favourite king of the Woodland realm._

_You looked tired, so I left you to sleep. I would like to_

_talk to you later today, before dinner if possible, once_

_you are done in the library. I will either be in here,_

_or in the throne room. Come find me._

_Faithfully,_

_Thorin._

Bilbo poured over the small letter again and again, sat behind his desk in the library later that afternoon. He had woken up in time for lunch, horrified that he had slept in so late, but Thorin had been absent from the main food hall. After a reasonably sized meal of cheese, bread and pasta he had decided to spend the rest of his day in the library.

Though he hadn’t managed to get much work done, far too distracted to be of any use to anyone.

“Oh, hello. Balin came looking for you and Thorin earlier today; I told him that I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of either of you today.” Ori remarked as he came out from between two bookshelves, leading Bilbo to stuff the small piece of parchment into the inside pocket of his recently acquired coat. It was a beautiful item of clothing, elven made and red in colour with a soft fur-lined hood. Definitely better than the tatty blue thing he had been using for a coat up until it was ruined in the Battle of the Five Armies. He hadn’t really fancied continuing to wear a coat that was thoroughly stained with his own blood, thank you very much. It had ended up being more red than blue, in the end.

Thorin had arranged for him to have some clothes custom made earlier that week, since he was the only member of the company without clothes that fit. He still wore tunics for bed, as they were incredibly comfortable, but he had his own clothes again. Clothes made for him, that did not swamp him or make him feel like a child trying to wear his parent’s clothes. The style of his new outfits was a little on the dwarven side, but he could forgive that. He could compromise for the sake of fitting in. He had still chosen the colours and fabrics that _he_ wanted, and he’d been able to request some personal touches. It wasn’t as though he had been forced into tunics and _shoes_.

He would never have taken that lying down.

“Oh.” Bilbo hummed, feeling his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. He raised a hand to fiddle with the thick green scarf he had chosen that day, glad that Ori was always so eager to knit for him. He had a healthy collection of gloves, hats and scarves - though he had only really needed the scarves. He wasn’t really comfortable enough with the angry looking scar on his throat to have it on show all of the time. His stitches had been removed more than a week before, but he had used to be able to hide the ugly mark under his neck braces. Now they were gone too. Luckily it was winter, so wearing a scarf wasn’t particularly suspicious. Especially since the mountain could be quite cold, despite its numerous fireplaces. If anyone did find his abundance of knitwear strange, nobody commented on it.

Balin had once asked where he had gotten the scarves, but that was hardly the same thing. Bilbo had told him that he’d asked Ori to make them, since he was cold. Balin had accepted the reason without questioning it, remarking that the scarf he was wearing that day suited him before letting the matter drop. “Yes, well… I’m afraid I slept in this morning. I had a rather… Restless night. Did I miss anything important?” He lied thinly, knowing that he had probably turned the same colour as his coat and cursing himself internally for not thinking of a better excuse.

“That makes two of you.” Ori observed, offering a small and all too knowing smile to the hobbit. “Apparently Thorin missed his meeting with King Thranduil this morning because he was sleeping. It’s odd, really, Thorin has always been an early riser. He’s usually the first in the food hall for breakfast.” He noted, setting a heavy looking book in front of the temporary librarian. Ori was nowhere near bold enough to ask if Bilbo and Thorin had been together, but it was obvious that that was what he was thinking. A less polite dwarf probably would have badgered Bilbo for information.

“I wouldn’t know.” Bilbo said far too quickly, turning even redder in the face. “I mean… I rarely wake that early, I’ve no idea what time Thorin gets up.” He tried to recover, though that wasn’t strictly true. Bilbo had always been a relatively late riser, even in the Shire, but he knew a lot about Thorin’s sleeping habits now. Much more than he should do. He hadn’t meant to sleep for so long that morning, but he had been so comfortable in the king’s bed, and so very tired. He tended to sleep in the armchair by the fire whenever he stayed in Thorin’s room, but the dark-haired dwarf must have moved him that night. He was grateful for it, since it meant that he hadn’t woken up with back-ache for once, but it meant that he hadn’t woken up early enough. Usually his discomfort woke him, or Thorin would wake him, and he would slip back into his own room through the secret passage for a couple more hours of sleep whilst Thorin got ready to face the day ahead.

A king’s day started long before a librarian’s did, after all.

Ori raised an eyebrow at their former burglar but made no further comment on the matter, instead tapping his fingers on the book that he had brought over. “I found this under a shelf earlier. It’s supposedly a list of all the books we own – I thought you would like to go through it and check, whilst I finish arranging the higher shelves?” He offered, beginning to fiddle with a loose thread in his fingerless gloves. He frowned softly at the sight of the loose strand, tucking it back through the weave as best he could without a needle of some kind. “Add anything that isn’t listed, and scratch off anything that’s missing?” He suggested, raising his eyes to Bilbo’s again and smiling.

“Yes, that’s fine – are they in any kind of order?” Bilbo asked, pulling the book closer to his body and heaving it open. The amused smile that lifted the corner of his friend’s mouth worried him and he raised an eyebrow questioningly at the youngest of the dwarves.

Ori shook his head slowly, grinning a little mischievously. “Nope, of course not. That’s why I thought that _you_ would like to do it.” He shared, his real meaning obvious enough. _I don’t want to do it myself_.

“You are the _worst_ ; I’m not quite sure why I like you.” The brunet groaned theatrically, though he was smiling himself, balling up a spare sheet of parchment and throwing it at the bookish dwarf as he bound away laughing.

He rolled his eyes to himself as he heard Ori’s footsteps fade into the depths of the library, silently considering getting the note out of his coat pocket again before deciding against it. What would be the point in torturing himself? He’d already read it at least a dozen times, and he still had no idea what Thorin might want to talk about. Not that that stopped him from worrying.

Bilbo rested his elbows on the table with a weary sigh, holding his head in his hands and staring hard at the open pages in front of him in an attempt to take his mind off of the insufferably attractive king under the mountain.

It didn’t work, of course.

He could barely see the words, let alone read them, too distracted by his own thoughts. It frustrated him to no end – he _wanted_ to work. He did. He wanted to be useful, but it was too difficult.

He was so worried about what Thorin wanted to discuss with him. It couldn’t be that they had shared a bed, could it? Because _Thorin_ had put Bilbo in the bed, it wasn’t like the hobbit had crawled in uninvited! If anybody should be in trouble for that, it should be Thorin!

The brunet had woken up in the middle of the night, for no reason in particular, to find himself in the king’s bed. He remembered being curled up in his favourite of Thorin’s armchairs, talking in front of the fire, but that was it. He must have fallen asleep there and been carried to the bed – which was a little mortifying, if he was completely honest. It was like he was a tiny child again, needing to be taken to bed by one of his parents because he had refused to go to bed at a reasonable time… Which had happened more often than not in his childhood. He just hoped that he hadn’t dribbled on the regal dwarf, he would never be able to live it down if he had. Oh _Mahal_ , what if _that_ was what Thorin wanted to discuss with him? It didn’t seem likely, but Thorin was hardly the most predictable of characters.

He had woken that night with his back to Thorin, and their torsos pressed tightly together. The large dwarf had had a strong, muscular arm thrown over Bilbo’s middle – effectively holding the hobbit to his chest. It had been enough to set off an inappropriate number of butterflies in his stomach, and he couldn’t help but admire the eldest Durin as he dozed. His face was slack and peaceful, his thick eyelashes fanned out across his high cheekbones. His beard had begun to grow out again, and according to Balin it wouldn’t be long before Thorin could put it in a braid again – like he had done in his youth.

When he was sleeping was one of the only times Bilbo could openly examine the broad ruler undetected. He’d barely ever gotten to see Thorin sleeping on the road, since the king was late to bed and early to rise. It really was no wonder that he had always been so cranky during their quest, when he barely ever got more than four hours’ sleep.

But it was honestly so inconvenient that he liked Thorin as much as he did – it was even a little _annoying_. Because it was _Thorin_. Thorin Oakenshield, king of the dwarves and rightful ruler of Erebor.

Bilbo had been reasonably happy being a bachelor his entire life, because it suited him. He didn’t have to worry about taking care of anybody but himself, and he didn’t have to out himself to the rest of the Shire. He could live a peaceful, private life where nobody knew which gender he was interested in and nobody could think any less of him for it. Then Thorin had come charging into his life, large and arrogant and so maddeningly stubborn – and yet somehow completely _irresistible_.

He had arms at least two or three times as large as Bilbo’s, and looked as though he was made entirely out of muscle. He was unbelievably broad, and his _thighs_ … Mahal _wept_ , his thighs were so thick and strong looking. He had the most divine blue eyes, that crinkled handsomely at the corners on the rare occasion that he smiled, and his voice… Bilbo’d had some very questionable dreams after the first time he’d heard the dwarven king sing. The hobbit had found him extremely beautiful from the offset – but despite all of this Bilbo had found it incredibly easy to ignore his attraction to the royal dwarf at the beginning of their quest, simply because Thorin had acted like such a complete and utter arse. He had been rude, moody, closed off…

 _Not_ an ideal companion. Certainly not the kind of lover Bilbo could imagine bringing home to his family, if they had still been around. Because that was one way that hobbits judged potential partners – on whether or not they would be liked by their relatives.

Then Bilbo had gotten to know Thorin. _Really_ know him. The royal dwarf had still been stubborn and arrogant, but he was also loyal to a fault and so incredibly _kind_. He cared for every single member of his company, even the fussy little hobbit whom he hadn’t wanted to employ in the first place. And his arrogance had only ever been a façade – a front put up to stop anyone from realising when he was scared or hurting.

It had been obvious from very early in their quest that he loved his family fiercely, and that was something to be admired. He spoke of them so fondly, even his gold-mad grandfather, and he treated both of his nephews with an almost uncharacteristic amount of affection. Bilbo imagined that he was the same with his sister, though he had never seen it himself so he couldn’t know for sure. He had yet to meet Princess Dis – and might not get to, if he _did_ choose to return to the Shire.

Thorin would risk his own life for any one of his friends, and he always did his best to make sure that every single member of the company was happy and healthy. Even when they had been traveling he had made sure to go around every so often, checking on each and every dwarf. Not much had changed since, and despite his royal title Thorin still made sure that each and every member of the company was settling into the mountain comfortably.

He was such a _good_ person, in spite of all of the tragedy that had befallen him in his life. He might have acted less rationally and _much_ less charitably when he had been gold mad, but that had been because he was sick. It wasn’t him, and he had gotten over it. He had even gone as far as apologise to each member of the company individually for any grief that he had caused them – and apologised to Bilbo at least ten times more than was strictly necessary.

Bilbo _knew_ Thorin was sorry, he didn’t need to hear it quite so often.

Immediately after the dark-haired dwarf had tried to throw him from the battlements for betraying him, Bilbo had wanted to be angry. He had wanted to despise Thorin for it, he had wanted to get mad and kick up a fuss because it wasn’t acceptable – but it also wasn’t Thorin’s fault.

He had been incredibly unwell, and he hadn’t known how to appropriately express his feelings. His sickness had been obvious to everyone who knew him, and none of them really blamed him for it. Mental illness ran in his family; it couldn’t be helped.

And in any case, he hadn’t physically hurt Bilbo and that was all that mattered.

Bilbo had been in love with Thorin since their first hug on the Carrock; he couldn’t stop loving him just because the two of them had exchanged some barbed words on top of the battlements before the Battle of the Five Armies. His feelings ran far too deep for that. He wouldn’t lie – he couldn’t stand on the battlements anymore without feeling a wave of nausea, but that was because he had been _so_ scared at the time. He had always trusted Thorin never to hurt him, but Thorin had been sick and wildly unpredictable at the time. He hadn’t known for sure that the king wouldn’t throw him to his death, even if he had wanted to think that the object of his affections wasn’t capable of such a thing.

Bilbo was certain that Thorin _wasn’t_ capable of such a thing - when he was of a sound mind.

The brown-haired hobbit sighed deeply, raising his head from his hands and glancing around the large library. Ori was nowhere to be seen, probably shuffling around the furthest shelves from the door as he was prone to doing, so Bilbo stood and found a scrap of paper to write on. He left the young dwarf a note explaining that he would complete his task the next day, as he felt out of sorts and needed to go for a walk to help clear his head. He knew he wasn’t going to get any work done whilst he was so busy worrying about Thorin, so it wasn’t even worth trying. He would go for a walk, have a cup of tea and then face the king in his own time. He definitely needed to calm down before the two of them talked, lest he make a _complete_ fool of himself.

The hobbit made sure that his scarf was wound nice and tight before pulling a set of matching gloves from his coat pocket and slipping them on. A breath of fresh air would do him the world of good, but it was cold out. He considered walking back to his room to retrieve a hat, but he might bump into Thorin if he headed to the royal wing and that wasn’t worth risking.

Not until he’d gotten his thoughts in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HATE using 'that that' and 'had had' in sentences... I know that they're grammatically correct, it just really bothers me!  
> Ugh!  
> SO, next chapter we get down to some REAL shippy stuff! A big talk is on the horizon! Dwalin will be so pleased... :')
> 
> Sorry for such infrequent updates - and if any of you read my other fic, I'm really sorry that it's been so long since I've posted anything for it. I just have more muse for this one right now, though it's a bit slow going because I recently started a new job and I'm still settling in. Not to mention this is an incredibly busy season in my line of work, and a busy season socially too. I really am sorry for being slow, I am trying my hardest.  
> You can follow me at Sad-Little-Acorn.tumblr.com for updates, if you would like. I try to post there regularly about how my fics are progressing, and I also reblog a LOT of bagginshield stuff... Not to mention some fic-recs, photosets, gifs... Those kinds of things! You can always inbox me there if you like, even if it's just for a chat. I love talking to you guys!


	8. At Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, guys! I hope 2016 treats you well :)
> 
> So, a small forewarning, this chapter turned out a little darker than I intended! There is some self-loathing in this chapter, as well as more talk of nightmares and depression.  
> If you think this might be triggering for you and would like a safe summary of this chapter, message me at Sad-Little-Acorn.tumblr.com - or let me know in the comments. I'd hate to cause anyone any sort of grief.
> 
> Also, this chapter is at least one thousand words longer than usual - but I felt you guys deserved that for putting up with how slow I've been!

It was bitterly cold out, but Bilbo had expected that when he had decided to walk out onto the battlements. What he had not expected, however, was to find a young dwarf prince sat with his legs hanging over the edge of the same wall Bilbo had almost been thrown from a month before.

The brown-haired hobbit frowned softly, pulling his hood up to keep his ears warm and padding towards the hunched figure. Kili hadn’t noticed him yet, giving Bilbo the chance to get a good look at him before he threw his guard up. The dark-haired dwarf was sat with his back to Bilbo, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. He was cradling his damaged arm to his chest, holding it with his remaining hand and glaring at it with obvious venom. Kili tried to put a brave face on, but it was obvious to everyone that knew him that he was deeply unhappy with the loss of his hand. Nobody blamed him for it, but barely anybody really tried to talk to him about it either. Most of the dwarves just walked on eggshells around him, in the hopes that he’d start feeling better by himself.

None of them knew what to say.

Bilbo knew Thorin was trying to help, he had said as much whilst they were talking one night, but Kili was every bit as stubborn as his uncle was. He wouldn’t admit that he was suffering, and he was even less likely to talk to Thorin about it than anyone else in the mountain. He wanted to look strong, he didn’t want to disappoint his mother’s brother by asking for help.

Thorin knew as much, and he hated it. He wanted to help.

“Kili.” Bilbo greeted warmly, feeling the need to announce himself – rather than startle the youngest of the Durins and risk him falling from the wall as he padded over to stand beside him. He wanted to sit next to him, but the idea of hanging his legs over the edge of the wall made him feel faint. He wasn’t even sure why he had come to the battlements, since they never failed to make him uneasy.

Maybe for the privacy, since it was barely ever manned. It was a good thing he had though, since Kili was here. The hobbit might be able to cheer him up, even if only a little bit. Kili rarely smiled now, and when he did smile it was pinched and forced. _Faked_ , in an attempt to put his friends and family at ease. Not that it was fooling any of them, he hadn’t been himself in weeks. “Mind if I join you…?” He asked, ignoring the way Kili sat up straighter and stiffer upon hearing his voice. Bilbo could already see him putting his guard back up.

“Of course not.” Kili said after a long moment of composing himself, offering Bilbo a shadow of his old smile. He glanced down the sheer drop of the battlements, brow furrowing for a moment before he raised his head to look at the hobbit again. “Shall we move away from the edge?” He asked, surprising Bilbo with his thoughtfulness. He and the rest of the company had been there when Thorin had threatened Bilbo, so he must have realised that the battlements brought back bad memories for the burglar.

Bilbo nodded in response, stepping away from the edge gratefully and glancing around for somewhere more suitable to sit. Snow was clinging damply to Kili’s hair, and to most of the floor beneath them, but there was a section of the battlement that was sheltered from the snow by a rock overhang. “Thank you… How about we sit over there…?” He suggested, gesturing to the spot in question. They could sit reasonably comfortably on the floor with their backs to the main wall, and still have a good view of the landscape around them. He moved to sit down without waiting for Kili’s response, shuddering at the feeling of the cold stone on his bottom and thighs even through his clothing. It hardly mattered, he was sure he’d get used to it within a few minutes. He doubted Kili would appreciate him suggesting they talk inside, and Bilbo had wanted to get some fresh air anyway.

Kili turned around and hopped off of the wall with ease, the snow crunching under his thick leather boots as he traipsed over to where Bilbo was sitting. He fell down heavily beside the hobbit, leaving a comfortable but not unfriendly amount of distance between them. “What are you doing out here…?” He asked immediately, wasting no time with niceties. He glanced at the other brunet out of the corner of his eye, his expression wary and a little suspicious – like Bilbo might have come out just to bother him. “None of the company ever come out here… Not even Thorin.” He murmured, turning to look at the snow-covered city in the distance. Dale looked much more peaceful in the snow – the destruction not quite as obvious under the thick white blanket of powder. Bilbo couldn’t help but be glad that the Men had what remained of Dale for shelter, since braving winter on what was left of Lake-Town would have been out of the question.

“Is that why you’re here…? To avoid Thorin?” The hobbit pressed gently, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping an arm around them for warmth. It was so chilly that even his nose was numb, but it was actually rather nice. It wasn’t _so_ uncomfortable that it warranted going back inside, and the cold was quite bracing. It was helping to clear his head.

Kili shot him an almost disparaging side-long look, one eyebrow raised. “I can’t say that I _love_ his fussing, but not everything is about my uncle.” He asseverated, lowering his gaze to his hand as he began to fiddle with the silk wrap he had tied over the end of his stump. It was the same soft blue as his tunic – so that it didn’t stand out. Not that anyone could look at him and _not_ notice that he was missing just less than half of his arm. “I come here to think and be alone, not to avoid anyone in particular… It’s always quiet here.” He added when Bilbo did not respond right away, keeping his eyes averted. “No one really comes up here. Too many bad memories, I expect.”

“Well, I can understand that. I usually avoid coming up here, but I guess I came out with the same intention as you today.” Bilbo admitted, earning another fleeting glance from the prince beside him.

“…would you like me to leave you to it, then?” Kili entreated, looking as though he expected the hobbit to ask him to go.

Bilbo turned to look at him properly, taking in the sight of his sad brown eyes and his slightly sallow complexion. He wondered vaguely if Kili had been eating properly, though he wouldn’t be surprised if the young dwarf’s appetite had taken a knock recently. It pained him to see the dwarf prince so miserable, it was so _unlike_ him. He was usually so full of life. The dark circles under his eyes made him look so much older, his usual youthfulness absent from his expression. “Of course not. Just because I thought that I would be alone does not mean that this is not a nice surprise. I would like it very much if you sat with me for a while… But you can leave, if you would like.” Bilbo imparted, reaching out to pat the dwarf’s shoulder affectionately. He let his hand linger on Kili’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. Kili turned his head to face him at that, his head tilted and his expression forlorn. He slowly and cautiously shuffled closer to Bilbo, leaning into his side with a deep exhale. Bilbo wrapped his arm around the back of the brunet’s shoulders to let him move in closer, his arm only just managing to reach the dwarf’s other side. Kili was incredibly broad, even if he was one of the leanest and youngest members of their company.

“I think I would like to stay for a while, if you wouldn’t mind.” Kili accepted, his tone soft and almost childlike as he gently leaned his head on Bilbo’s shoulder. The small gesture and hesitant words made Bilbo’s heart throb, reminding him of just how young Kili was. He was only just an adult by dwarven standards, he still had _so much_ life left to live.

The two of them sat in silence for a long while, and that was fine with Bilbo. If Kili didn’t want to talk about what was bothering him, then that was his business. Bilbo was happy to just keep him company, if that was all he needed. He knew better than anyone that just sitting quietly with someone could help them. Asking too many questions often made things worse, and silence could be reassuring. He and Thorin often sat together in companionable silence, content in knowing that they were not alone.

Bilbo wasn’t sure how long they had been sat out in the snow before one of them spoke, but the snow in Kili’s hair had long since melted and his hair clung to his face in messy wet curls. “…Tauriel tells me that I should… Talk to somebody about how I’ve been feeling lately.” Kili revealed, though there was a question obvious in his tone. _Can I talk to you?_

“She’s probably right, Kili… It might help. I understand that being asked about your well-being _all of the time_ can be frustrating, I found it quite irritating myself when everybody kept asking about my neck every ten minutes. _But,_ you have to remember that the only reason anyone asks is because they _care_. I am certain that any member of the company would listen to you, should you wish to confide in them.” Bilbo confirmed, giving the young dwarf a gentle squeeze with his arm. “Nobody expects you to be okay, Kili. You don’t have to pretend.”

“…you can hardly talk.” Kili remarked somewhat sullenly, sighing loudly. “You do the exact same thing… You pretend that you are okay, to try stop anyone from worrying about you. The same as I do.” He pointed out, making Bilbo stiffen ever so slightly beside him.

Was he really that obvious…? He hadn’t realised that anyone had caught on – but in all fairness, he _was_ pretty okay. His problems paled in comparison to what most of the company had endured, and they certainly paled in comparison to Kili’s troubles. What did it matter that Bilbo was self-conscious of his scar, when Kili was missing the bottom half of his arm? It wasn’t the same thing at all. And Bilbo could hardly bring up his own nightmares, when Thorin had them so much worse. He was just prioritising; he wasn’t really _lying_.

“I _am_ okay, Kili. My problems are nothing that I can’t handle myself.” He argued, though he was rattled by Kili’s accusation. How could he not be? He hadn’t thought anyone had noticed that anything was wrong with him, they all had bigger things to worry about. “My point is that you should ask for help when you need it. If and when I need help, I will ask for it. I have friends here; I know I can talk to them if I need to. It’s just not that big a deal. I’m managing.” He reasoned, tightening his scarf self-consciously and raising his head to stare up into the snowy sky.

He could see Kili watching him with a slightly disbelieving look on his face, but he ignored it and waited for the dark-haired dwarf to respond instead. Silence fell between them again, but it was only a few minutes before Kili spoke up.

“I know that… That lots of dwarves live perfectly happy lives without all of their limbs, but I just… I can’t see a future for myself anymore. Without my archery, what do I have? Mahal knows I can’t wield a bow anymore, and what use is a dwarven prince who cannot fight…? I’m a disgrace to my family. I couldn’t even defend myself during the battle, I would be dead if it wasn’t for the prince of Mirkwood.” He breathed, his voice shaking miserably as he raised a hand to rub his knuckles into his eyes. “There would have been more honour in dying, then in carrying on this way.”

Bilbo stared blankly at Kili for a long moment, shocked and horrified that he could think such a thing. He had known that the young dwarf was depressed, and he really did understand why, but he could not understand how Kili could possibly think that he would have been better off dead. “Kili, try telling that to Fili. Or Thorin, or your mother… Or _anyone_ who cares about you.” He said, his voice a little high and reedy in his disbelief. He usually hated how high his voice got whenever he was upset or stressed, but at that moment he couldn’t care less. He needed to comfort Kili. He had to let him know that there was no shame in what had happened to him. “There are so many people in this mountain who love you, Kili. Even if you never shoot an arrow or swing a sword ever again, none of them will mind. Nobody expects you to recover immediately, we know how hard this is for you and we want to help. _I_ want to help. You just need to let us in.” He stated obstinately, shuffling as close as he could to the traumatised prince.

“Nobody loves you any less for losing your arm, Kili. No one thinks any differently of you for it, either. Sure, they’re worried – but that’s just because they want to see you smile again. We want you to be okay. It’ll take time, but it’ll happen eventually. You might not ever be the same person again, but that doesn’t mean there’s no future for you...” He continued, his voice beginning to shake. His eyes were stinging, and his chest felt tight and uncomfortable, but he carried on regardless. Kili needed to hear this. He needed to understand just how widely loved he was. Bilbo had only met Tauriel on a handful of occasions, but he could see in her face that she loved him, and he knew for a fact that every single member of the company would willingly die for Kili. He was so charming, funny, loyal, handsome, talented and _usually_ carefree. His carefree attitude may have left him a short while after his arm was lost, but it might still return once he had recovered. And even if it didn’t, he was still an incredibly likable young dwarf.

Far more likable than his stubborn uncle, most would say.

“I can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel, Kili, but I do know how it feels to… To feel useless, and broken, and alone… I don’t ever want you to feel like that, Kili.” He persisted, swallowing thickly and raising his free hand to rub at his own eyes. He was trying to be strong, for Kili, but it was just so _horrible_. Kili had so much potential, he had so much to live for, and he didn’t even realise.

The young dwarf stared a little blankly at Bilbo, his big brown eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. The hobbit had clearly struck a chord with him, and Kili didn’t know how to react. It was obvious from his face that he hadn’t been expecting such a heartfelt or emotional response from their resident burglar. “I… Thank _you_ , Bilbo…” Kili breathed unsteadily, swallowing thickly and beginning to wipe roughly at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “I… I think that I… Needed to hear that.” He admitted weakly, letting out a ragged breath and catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “Now I feel like a real fool for not… Talking to anyone sooner. Well, for not talking to _you_ sooner… I doubt my uncle would have put it so eloquently.”

“Your uncle may not have my way with words, but his heart is in the right place.” Bilbo defended loyally, gently pulling Kili’s hand away from his face – since his eyes were beginning to look a little red and irritated where he was rubbing them.

The brown-haired dwarf offered Bilbo a warm but all too knowing smile, bobbing his head in agreement. “Yeah, he has…” He confirmed, reaching up to squeeze the hand that was still resting on his shoulder.

-

Thorin was disgruntled, to say the least.

He had spent the entire afternoon distracted, meticulously planning what he was going to say to Bilbo when he saw him later that day – except he had finally gotten out of his last meeting and discovered that the hobbit was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t been in the king’s room, but his clothes and the note that Thorin had written for him were both gone.

Thorin had then checked anywhere and everywhere that the hobbit might go. He wasn’t in the library – though Ori said that he had been in after lunch, only to leave after less than an hour of sitting quietly behind his desk. He hadn’t been in his own room either, or the kitchens. Thorin knew that Bilbo often went to the communal kitchens when he had nothing else to do, despite having a kitchen of his own. He liked to help Bombur, advising him on what to make and swapping recipes with the round dwarf. But Thorin had asked, and Bombur hadn’t seen Bilbo. Aside from Ori, nobody had seen Bilbo since lunch.

His disgruntlement soon shifted into worry, and his stomach knotted uncomfortably. What if Bilbo had gotten lost somewhere in the mountain? Erebor was incredibly big, especially to a hobbit who had never lived inside of a mountain before, so it was quite possible. Whilst the majority of the company had never lived in Erebor, every single one of them had lived in a mountain at some point in the past. Except for Bilbo. And if he wasn’t lost, what if he was hurt? Some of the older walk-ways had yet to be restored, and could be quite hazardous. Bilbo could have fallen and knocked himself out, without anyone knowing where he was.

The thought alone was enough to make Thorin feel like vomiting.

He wandered some of the more dangerous areas of the mountain fretfully, feeling very paranoid all of a sudden. What if Bilbo wasn’t hurt or lost, and had simply left? Maybe Thorin had pushed him too far, and he had run away. Ori had told him that the burglar had seemed distracted when he had last seen him. Had putting Bilbo in his bed been too forward of him? He was a fool, _of course_ it had been too forward.

Bilbo had never shown any interest in him as anything more than a friend.

Thinking that Bilbo might have simply upped and left hurt much more than thinking that he might be injured. Thorin wasn’t even sure what he would do if the hobbit did choose to return to the Shire someday… He would never force him to stay, but it would kill him to see his burglar go. Bilbo had made him the happiest that he had been since Erebor fell, and he didn’t want to be miserable again. He didn’t want to put his family through that, not when they had all come so close to being happy.

It was quite by chance that the king managed to find Bilbo, as he had not been paying any attention to where he was walking. He had been so deep in thought that he didn’t even know where he was until the cold air hit him. He blinked hard, raising his head and pausing when he realised where he had ended up.

The battlements.

The same battlements that he had held Bilbo over during the height of his gold sickness. His heart clenched unpleasantly at the thought and he swallowed down bile, wanting to leave as soon as possible. He had too many bad memories of this place – so many that he went out of his way never to go there. If anything ever needed doing on the old battlements, he sent Dwalin. Luckily for him the balding dwarf never protested; he had enough sense to know when not to push Thorin’s buttons.

He took an unsure step backwards, about to head back inside when a soft sniff alerted him to somebody else’s presence. He paused, turning to look up and down the snowy outcrop. Sat down at the far end of the battlements were Kili and Bilbo, with Kili leaning heavily into Bilbo’s side. The two of them were protected from the weather under a rocky overhang, and if neither of them had made any noise than it would have been much too easy for the king to overlook them.

The hobbit had one arm around the young dwarf, his hand gently and reassuringly rubbing the prince’s shoulder. Kili looked much more relaxed than usual, a small but warm smile gracing his features as the two of them muttered softly amongst themselves.

Thorin watched for a long moment, incredibly relieved to find Bilbo not only still around but spending time with his depressed nephew. It had been so long since he had seen Kili smiling so genuinely, and knowing that Bilbo had managed to put a smile back on the brunet’s face was enough to put his worried heart at ease.

Mahal really had created the perfect One for him – someone who could look after both him _and_ his family.

He let out long breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding, frowning softly when the loud exhale caused Kili to startle violently. The young dwarf whipped round to look at him, his eyes wide and his expression guarded. He seemed to calm when he recognised his uncle, and he managed another smile - though it wasn’t quite as warm as the one he had worn for Bilbo. “Uncle.” He greeted kindly enough, rising to his feet.

Bilbo raised his head so that he could look at Thorin from beneath his slightly over-sized coat hood, smiling widely and taking the hand Kili offered him to get up. Once he was on his feet, Kili released his hand and took a step back. He glanced between the two of them, scratching hard at his stubbled jaw. “Right, well… I best find Fili - you know him, he’ll be wondering where I am.” He excused himself, giving Thorin a worryingly knowing look before bounding away with a newfound spring in his step.

Bilbo smiled fondly as he watched Thorin’s youngest nephew disappear back inside, wiping his green eyes free of moisture with two fingers. Thorin hadn’t even realised that the hobbit was crying, too busy staring after his unusually cheerful sister-son. “ _Mahal_ , I love that kid… My mother must be laughing in her grave, she always said I’d end up adopting someday… Though I doubt she could have guessed that I would try to take two young _dwarves_ under my wing.” He mused with a sigh, making Thorin’s heart ache with longing. How could this hobbit be so perfect? He loved Thorin’s family fiercely, and Thorin’s family loved him back. They might not say as much aloud, but that was because Kili and Fili were at the age where they didn’t often express their appreciation of their loved ones. They thought they were too grown up for that.

Then something occurred to him.

“Adopt…? She thought that you would adopt? Not have children of your own? I was under the impression that hobbits were a fertile people.” Thorin remarked, wondering why a hobbit would adopt if they could have their own biological children. Lots of dwarves adopted, but that was because it was often the only way that they could have a family. Dwarves were _not_ a fertile race. Some heterosexual couples never managed to have children, despite trying their hardest to.

Thorin saw a flicker of fear cross Bilbo’s features, his expression panicked for a moment before he managed to compose himself. “Ah, yes, well... We are a very fertile race, many of my cousins have four or more children _each_... But, well, hobbits like _me_... Can't really have children. Not by conventional means.” The burglar shared, looking a little uncomfortable.

“I do not follow. In what way can you not have children...? Are you... A eunuch?” Thorin asked in an undertone, worried for the hobbit. Most of the company had seen each other naked on their quest, whilst bathing or changing clothes – but Bilbo had always been careful to stay covered up. They had all assumed it was a hobbit thing, but what if it wasn’t? What if he was hiding something? He didn’t need to, none of them would have judged him for it.

“A u-nik...? What is that?” Bilbo entreated, looking confused by the term. He probably thought it was Khuzdul, but Thorin knew that Men used the same word. Maybe hobbits had a different word for it? They _were_ a simpler folk.

“A eunuch is a male who has been castrated, who has no... _Testicles_.” The king explained hesitantly, feeling a little awkward at having to elaborate. He had assumed Bilbo would know the term.

“ _What_? That's barbaric! Why would anyone want to do that to another living being? I mean... I know some hobbits in the Shire have their pets castrated, to prevent them from breeding excessively, but why on earth would you do that to a _person_? Why would anyone even _want_ that done to them…?” Bilbo gasped, sounding utterly appalled – and making it completely clear that he was not a eunuch, much to Thorin’s embarrassment. They didn’t need to have this uncomfortable conversation.

“As far as I am aware, it is only done for medical reasons or for punishment now. A long time ago, soldiers and the Royal guard were sometimes castrated, so that they could focus solely on their duty rather than any kind of sexual urges. I take it from your surprise that hobbits do not practice such a thing...? Not even as punishment?” Thorin imparted, raising a large and calloused hand to absent-mindedly tuck a stray tuft of hair back under Bilbo’s hood.

The hobbit faltered for a moment, eyes flickering to the king’s hand as it fell away and his cheeks pinking noticeably. He cleared his throat softly, frowning. “Mahal, _no_. Why would we?” He hummed, though he was beginning to sound more confused than disgusted.

It was so easy to forget how different their cultures were sometimes, since Bilbo fit so comfortably into their midst. Castration probably did sound cruel and despicable to someone from a much gentler race – who hadn’t really seen more violence than a fist fight before joining their quest. Other than the Fell Winter, of course. “We only use it to punish rapists and child abusers, it is not a common practise.” Thorin felt the need to specify, not wanting Bilbo to think that it still happened regularly. That the dwarves were savages who would mutilate someone for no good reason. “Do you honestly think Dwalin would be the head of the royal guard if it meant becoming a eunuch?” He added in jest, smiling crookedly at the thought.

Bilbo managed an amused smile at that, though his expression had become a little uneasy again. He was very obviously avoiding looking at Thorin, his head bowed and his eyes on his furred feet. “Well, in any case, I am not a... A eunuch. I'm just queer.” He revealed, peaking up at the dwarven king briefly through his eyelashes before looking away. He flexed his toes into the cold rock beneath his feet, beginning to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Thorin stared down at the slight brunet, licking his bottom lip dryly as his heart skipped unsteadily in his chest. _Queer_. Unless the word had an entirely different meaning to hobbits, Bilbo was gay. Just like Thorin. One of his biggest fears about telling the burglar how he felt was that Bilbo might be repulsed by it. He knew for a fact that Men were not very tolerant of men loving other men, or women loving other woman – and he’d had no reason to think that hobbits wouldn’t be the same.

“ _Oh_ , I see.” He spluttered slightly, clearing his throat and standing up a little straighter as he tried to compose himself. He had probably given himself away with his expression alone, but thankfully Bilbo was still staring at the floor. “Why do you say that as though it is shameful…? Do hobbits disapprove of such things?” He questioned, his voice steadier this time round.

Bilbo blinked hard, his eyes wide as he raised them to meet Thorin’s. He clearly hadn’t expected the king to be so blasé about his sexuality, which sufficiently answered the regal dwarf’s question. Hobbits did not approve of homosexuality, just like Men.

“…yes, they do.” He confirmed, beginning to pick at his woollen gloves anxiously. Thorin reached out to wrap one broad hand around both of Bilbo’s to still his fidgeting, giving them a soft and hopefully reassuring squeeze.

“Dwarves do not.” Thorin touted, smiling slightly but not releasing the smaller male’s hands. “I have been queer my entire life, and no one has ever thought any less of _me_ for it. Balin has always known, as has Dwalin. In fact, I am sure that the entire company knows. You will find that several of them are homosexual too – or at least bisexual. I won’t say who, since it is not my place to, but I will tell you that your sexuality will not bother a single one of us. No one will think any less of you, should you choose to tell them. I know this for a fact.”

“Oh... _Oh_. I never knew... I mean... Oin knows... What I am, and he said that _most_ dwarves did not disapprove of homosexuality, but... I had no idea that _you_... Or any of the company were... Like me. I should have realised, really… Oin did say that _some_ of the company might care that I was queer, ‘just not in a bad way’…” Bilbo recalled, raising his head to meet Thorin’s eyes again. His face was flushed a bright red with embarrassment, but he offered the king a shy looking smile. “I suppose he meant because some of you are gay too.” The hobbit realised, heaving his shoulders in a shrug. Thorin almost cursed Oin for saying something so obvious, but it didn’t look as though Bilbo had clocked on to what the old physician had actually meant. Oin had been his family’s doctor ever since Thorin was young, so the dwarven king really shouldn’t have been surprised that the half-deaf dwarf knew of his sexuality. Or his interest in a certain hobbit.

Was he really so obvious…? Thorin had to wonder just how many members of the company knew how he felt about Bilbo, since it was _highly_ likely that they all knew that he was gay. It wasn’t something he hid, but it also wasn’t something he discussed openly. He had never courted anyone formally before, so there was no need for the topic to arise.

“No one expected you to. We dwarves are an incredibly private people, and at the start of our quest we weren't really comfortable enough with you to tell you something as personal as our sexual preferences. After that... I suppose it never came up, but none of us knew if hobbits were as accepting of these things as we are, so that might have made us reluctant to talk to you about it. We didn't want you to think any less of us, like a Man might.” He confessed, raising his free hand and folding that over Bilbo’s too. He knew he was basically holding the hobbit’s hands, but it felt right. And he was hoping that it might make his intentions a little clearer. “I am surprised that Oin did not just tell you who of the company are also interested in their own gender… He _is_ a terrible gossip.”

“I could never think any less of _you_ , Thorin... Or any of the company. But I suppose I can understand why you were all... Afraid to bring it up. I hid from you too, I just assumed that you would think it was disgusting. I never came out in the Shire, only my parents ever knew. They were my parents, so they loved me anyway, but I would not have been viewed as respectable had the rest of Hobbiton known.” Bilbo murmured softly, slowly and carefully entwining their fingers between them. “As for Oin… He might be a gossip, but he has some tact. He probably wasn’t sure whether or not anyone would want me to know.”

“Maybe I should give Oin some more credit… He has certainly gone up in my estimations, since he kept your sexuality a secret.” Thorin accepted, beginning to rub his thumb into the soft junction between Bilbo’s thumb and index finger. The hobbit might have been wearing gloves, but Thorin could still feel how cold his hands were through them. It made him wonder just how long the brunet had been sat out here with his nephew before he had interrupted. “And… You should know that you could never disgust me, Bilbo. If anything, I am relieved to hear that you too are… Queer.” He admitted, knowing that he was entering dangerous territory but also knowing that now was as a good a time as any to tell his burglar how he felt.

He couldn’t keep putting this off. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to know if Bilbo felt the same. If he didn’t… It would break Thorin’s heart, but he wouldn’t hold that against the hobbit. And at least he would finally know. Nobody could help who they fell in love with, and Bilbo couldn’t force himself to be with Thorin if there were no feelings there. Dwarves only ever had one love, but that love wasn’t guaranteed to love them back. Mahal could be cruel that way.

Thorin didn’t even know if Hobbits were similar, in that respect. For all he knew, hobbits might love widely rather than fiercely. Maybe they took multiple lovers… It might explain why there were so many children in the Shire. He shuddered at the thought, hoping that was not the case. He didn’t want to have to share Bilbo with _anyone_.

Bilbo stared up at him, his round face confused and his eyes wide. It might have been wishful thinking, but Thorin thought that he looked _hopeful_. “…you are?” The green eyed halfling peeped, his voice shrill with uncertainty. He was blushing to the very tips of his ears, just visible in the shadow of his hood.

“I am, yes… Because I have feelings for you. I have done for quite some time now, and part of the reason I never said was because I didn’t know how you would react to knowing that I am gay. I did not want to repulse you the way my sexuality would repulse someone from the race of Men. I was also worried that you would not feel the same, but with everything that we have been through I would rather tell you and be turned down than never know if my feelings were returned.” Thorin said, continuing to rub his thumbs soothingly across Bilbo’s hands – which had started to tremble a little. Thorin didn’t know if it was nerves or the cold making him shake, but he wanted to help either way. “I completely understand if you do not feel the same way, and I will not hold it against you. I know that I have never been the most approachable dwarf, and I know that I have done some unforgivable things in my life… Especially to you. But I would be yours, if you would have me.” He gushed, realising that he was rambling but finding himself unable to stop. “I would never raise a hand to you again, never insult you again, never question your honour or your loyalty-” He persisted, falling silent when a small hand found its way into his fur coat and pulled him forward quite abruptly.

A soft, warm mouth was suddenly pressed to his own and his mind went blissfully blank. Bilbo was kissing him. _Bilbo_. Thorin’s senses slowly returned to him and he raised one hand to cup the brunet’s cheek in his palm, tilting his head and leaning into the cautious kiss. The hobbit jumped a little upon feeling how cold the dwarf’s hands were, and Thorin made an apologetic sound in his throat. He should have thought of that, but he was having a lot of trouble just thinking straight.

He hadn’t expected such a positive reaction. He had been so sure that Bilbo wouldn’t reciprocate, that he would push the dwarf away…

But there they were. Kissing. Embracing in the very same place that they had been fighting only a month or so before.

Bilbo pulled away first, a kind smile on his face as he stared up at the dumbfounded and conflicted looking dwarven king. “You’re a fool.” He sighed, though his tone was fond rather than mocking. “Did you write that speech down first, or…?” He joked, one hand still fisted in the fabric of the older male’s clothes whilst the other freed itself from Thorin’s and came up to rest on the broad dwarf’s shoulder.

The regal dwarf blushed darkly at the question, glancing around to make sure that they were still alone before clearing his throat. “I… I might have prepared something in my mind this afternoon… But I did not note it down.” He muttered, looking down at Bilbo’s pink lips whilst their faces were still so close. “May I kiss you again…?” He requested, not wanting to push his luck and do it without permission. It was too early to determine how that would be received, he thought.

“Foolish dwarf…” The hobbit breathed, eyes crinkling fondly at the corners. “…I think that you should. I mean… I would like you to.” Bilbo encouraged, somehow managing to blush even darker. “Please do.”

Thorin did not need to be told twice, hooking one arm around the lithe brunet’s middle to draw him in closer. The hobbit squeaked a little in alarm, though the sound was lost when the king’s mouth met his. Thorin’s toes curled inside his boots as Bilbo rose onto his tiptoes, pressing himself further into the dwarf’s chest and sighing breathily into the kiss. Thorin raised his free hand and planted it on the back of Bilbo’s hood, holding their faces together desperately. It might not have been the most elegant or well-planned kiss, but it made Thorin’s pulse soar. He had waited so long for this moment – and yet, he had never expected it to actually happen. Only in his wildest dreams had he imagined Bilbo returning his feelings, and this kiss was even more amazing than he had ever thought it would be.

Having Bilbo in his arms, soft and warm and gasping at his embrace… It was the most at home Thorin had ever felt, in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not exactly happy with this chapter, but I wanted to get it posted so that I could start writing the next chapter - or maybe a new chapter for 'No Respectable Young Lady'. I'm not sure yet, but as usual I will continue to post about my progress on both of my fics on my tumblr page :)
> 
> Thank you all for being so patient with me, I hope you enjoy this chapter!


	9. A Cultural Misunderstanding

“You would like to go out, in the _snow_ , to try and find a living plant…?” Thorin averred, one eyebrow raised questioningly at the hobbit. “Why…?” He wondered, expression completely bemused as he returned his eyes to the papers in front of him.

They were sat in one of Thorin’s many meeting rooms, pouring over several stacks of plans for Dale. Balin was also with them, sat further down the table with a pot of ink and a quill – taking notes on everything and anything Thorin asked him to. The king had asked Bilbo to join them in going through the plans, since many of them included where Bard intended to place their farms and Thorin was still intent on making Bilbo his agricultural consultant. Even if Bilbo wasn’t so sure that he was suitable for the role.

It had only been a short few days since he and Thorin had kissed, but nothing had really changed. Bilbo wasn’t quite sure what to think of it – whenever Balin or any other dwarves were around Thorin acted as though nothing had changed between them. And as far as Bilbo knew, he hadn’t even told anyone about what had happened. In private he would cuddle up to the hobbit happily enough, and even kiss his cheeks or lightly peck him on the mouth… But nothing more. Bilbo still joined Thorin in his room at night, but the hobbit slept in a chair by the fire rather than in the bed. He wouldn’t climb into the king’s bed uninvited – and the eldest Durin hadn’t invited him.

It was most peculiar.

Was he embarrassed…? Did he not want the others to know? Bilbo didn’t know how he felt about it all. Whilst he was thrilled to have finally found out that Thorin had feelings for him, it didn’t feel like they were in a relationship. He supposed he should talk to the regal dwarf about it, but he didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

What if he expressed his feelings, and it put Thorin _off_? He didn’t want that.

Though on the other hand, he wasn’t even sure that they _were_ in a relationship because of the way that the dwarf was acting. In the Shire, a couple would express their feelings for each other _very_ openly – and the moment they started courting everyone knew about it. It was never a secret.

“Well…” Bilbo began, not sure how to explain himself. They had been discussing what plants could be grown around the mountain when the halfling had brought up that he wanted to find a shrub or small tree to put in one of his rooms. Thorin seemed to find the idea _funny_ , which instantly rubbed Bilbo up the wrong way. “… _well_ , I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s a hobbit tradition. Every winter we bring a wild plant into our homes, to protect it from the bad weather. We keep it alive, and then once the winter is over we plant it outside again – usually in our own gardens. It’s probably just superstitious nonsense… But it’s to ensure that not every plant dies, that something makes it no matter how bad that winter is.” He hummed, looking a little embarrassed. It probably sounded really silly to someone who wasn’t a hobbit. He was sure that dwarves wouldn’t _ever_ practice such a thing, they cared very little for plants. They certainly never kept them just because they were aesthetically pleasing, like hobbits did. Bilbo did find the lack of living things in the mountain a little disturbing, having grown up in an area full of greenery and wild animals. There was none of that in Erebor. He hadn’t even seen a single _pet_ in his time living with the dwarves. “It doesn’t matter. It’s probably too cold out now, if I was in the Shire I would have chosen my plant at the very beginning of the season. And if it made it to Yuletide, then I would decorate it as part of the festivities. But I don’t suppose that I will be celebrating Yule this year…” He murmured, frowning softly to himself. His heart sank a little at that and he raised a hand to scratch behind one of his ears, looking crestfallen. “…so, it really does not matter.”

He loved Yuletide. It was probably one of his favourite holidays – a six-day period in which there was much feasting and merriment amongst hobbits. Tents would be set up around the party tree, a bonfire would be kept going to keep the party-goers warm and there would be a constant buffet ran by the residents of the Shire. Everyone brought something. There would be music, dancing, drinking… Then on the last day, you would exchange gifts amongst your loved ones.

Bilbo’s mother had used to make an _amazing_ rhubarb and honey pie, with a crunchy oat crumble on the top. She only ever made it for Yuletide, and now that Bilbo thought about it he realised that he hadn’t had it since the Yuletide before her death.

Thorin raised his gaze from his work to look at Bilbo, tilting his head and eyeing the brunet with obvious concern. He was no fool; he could tell when the hobbit was upset. “…Bilbo?” He hummed softly, glancing to Balin across the table. Balin looked just as concerned as Thorin did, watching the halfling over his half-moon glasses. He caught Thorin’s eye and shrugged, his expression unsure.

Neither of them knew what ‘ _Yuletide_ ’ was. Dwarves didn’t celebrate it. Not even in the Blue Mountains.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Bilbo dismissed, pulling a scroll over and unrolling it in front of himself. This scroll wasn’t even about the farms, but the green-eyed halfling didn’t let that dissuade him. He needed a distraction from his own depressing thoughts. “It’s just a silly little tradition, and I’m not in the Shire anymore, so it doesn’t matter…” He insisted, though it sounded weak even to his own ears. He cleared his throat quietly, frowning harder. “Really, it’s fine.” He reiterated, beginning to chew on his bottom lip unhappily as he started at the parchment in front of him. On it was a detailed plan of how the Men of Dale intended to reinforce the sunken foundations of several different buildings. It may as well have been in a different language, it made that little sense to the hobbit. He knew as much about architecture as he did about battle-techniques – which was not a great deal.

“Bilbo, if you would like to bring a plant or two inside than you are more than welcome to. I would recommend that you wrap up warm, though. Balin, Dwalin and I walked to Dale yesterday, and it was bitterly cold.” Thorin reassured the hobbit, flashing him a kind smile and reaching out to pat the brunet’s shoulder a little stiffly. He, his royal guard and his royal advisor had gone to Dale so that Bard could show them what progress had already been made in restoring the dilapidated city. Which was not a lot, really.

The city had been completely cleared of orc and troll corpses, but not much could be done about rebuilding and repairing houses when it was so cold out. Working in such conditions would only make the Men sick, so they would have to wait until spring. They had set up some reasonably sturdy temporary accommodation, however. Everyone had a roof over their head, and that was good enough for the time being.

“We could go before dinner, if you would like. I would be happy to accompany you.” Thorin offered, dropping his hand away. “I am not sure how much luck we will have, but we can look anyway.” He added, thinking that the snow would have already killed most of the greenery around the mountain. The Mirkwood would still be alive and thriving despite the cold, elven magic made sure of that, but Bilbo couldn’t go that far from the mountain for the sake of some hobbit tradition. It wouldn’t be practical, and it would take far too long.

“I thought I saw some shrubs a little higher up the mountain, would that suffice?” Balin asked, putting his quill down in the ink pot and smiling warmly at their resident hobbit. Bilbo raised his head slowly, glancing between Thorin and Balin uncertainly.

He still felt a little sad, caught up on the reminder that he was no longer living in Hobbiton – and as such would not enjoy the same festivities or celebrations that he had back in Bag End. He’d spent the first fifty years of his life living as a hobbit, and now he may as well be a dwarf. He didn’t even know any dwarven festivals or celebrations – if there were any. Gods, how did they celebrate _birthdays_? Bilbo knew far too little about the people he lived amongst. “A shrub could work… We usually use a bush or some kind of small tree.” He accepted hesitantly, licking his now sore bottom lip. “Would you mind…? I’ll need a pot or bucket of some kind to keep it in… And a shovel to dig it up.” He shared, beginning to fiddle with the edges of the scroll on the table.

“Of course, I wouldn’t mind. I’d rather you didn’t go alone, just in case anything happens whilst you are out there. Oin went out on the side of the mountain the other afternoon to look for a medicinal herb that used to grow there, and accidentally set off a small rock slide. He slipped and almost hurt himself.” The king broadcasted, starting to put away the papers and scrolls that he had already read. “There used to be several paths along the outside of the mountain, but they haven’t been tended to in decades and have fallen into disrepair. Oin was lucky that he didn’t fall further, he could have been seriously injured. I doubt he’ll be heading out there alone again.” He reported, looking over at Balin again after Bilbo nodded miserably in agreement. “Speaking of which, we should really talk to Dain about getting some dwarves out there to fix the paths once winter passes. Until then we’ll just discourage people from going out there. If the weather wasn’t so bad then I would suggest sending someone out there right away, but I would hate for someone to slip on a patch of ice or lose their footing in the snow and fall to their death.” He added, watching as Balin nodded and made a note on a piece of parchment so that they wouldn’t forget.

“I will arrange a meeting with Dain some time over the next few days. We need to talk to him about how the renovations are going in the eastern wing of the accommodations, anyway.” The elderly advisor agreed, rolling up the piece of parchment and tucking it into the inside of his tunic. “I saw him a couple of days ago, in the food hall, and he told me that the throne room has been cleared of rubble and cleaned from top to bottom. I told him that it wasn’t a priority, but he waved me off and told me that it needs to be perfect for your coronation.”

“That dwarf is obsessed with my coronation… I have already told him that I do not want to be crowned officially until Dis and the dwarves of the Blue Mountains are here. What would be the point in doing it in front of a couple of hundred dwarves, when the majority of our people are still half way across Middle-Earth?” Thorin sighed, looking tired at the mention of his cousin. “ _Anyway_ … Has he told you what he intends to do with that broken statue? The one closest to the platform.”

“There was talk of repairing it. There are still places in the lower levels of the mountain where we can mine large amounts of stone. Dain says that he knows a dwarf who can carve a new head for it.” Balin answered, though he looked amused by Thorin’s exasperation. “I would suggest that we remove it entirely, but then we would have to find a way to destroy and remove the one opposite it too – to make it even.” He noted, sorting through the pieces of parchment that he had written on already. “In any case, shall we move onto our next topic?” He continued, since they still had a lot of work to do.

-

Several hours later, Thorin found himself wandering the side of the mountain with Bilbo at his side. The brunet was wearing his favourite red coat, along with a set of brown knitwear. A scarf, a hat and a pair of gloves. His expression was sad and solemn underneath his hood, and he was rubbing his hands together anxiously.

Something was very obviously bothering the hobbit, which was why Thorin had offered to accompany him. The regal dwarf didn’t really need an excuse to spend time with Bilbo, he loved spending time with Bilbo, but he couldn’t say that rooting through the snow looking for plants was his idea of a good time.

The longer the two of them spent outside without finding a living plant, the worst Bilbo’s mood got. And it had already been an hour. This hobbit tradition clearly meant a lot to his One, though Thorin wasn’t really sure why. He had said it was just a silly superstition, after all.

“I thought that Balin said that he had seen a shrub somewhere…?” Bilbo stressed, reaching a hand into his hood to tuck his pointed ears back under his hat. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. “I knew it was too late… I should have done this _weeks_ ago.” He breathed, sounding incredibly irritated.

Thorin glanced down at the shovel tucked under his arm, still clean and unused. They hadn’t seen a single plant yet, living or dead, and it was starting to get dark. If they stayed out much longer they were going to miss dinner. “You couldn’t have done this weeks ago, azyungel… You were not well.” He reminded the brunet gently, placing his free hand between the hobbit’s shoulder blades. He had hoped that his love would find the touch comforting, but the look that Bilbo gave him was not an encouraging one. “And in any case, my heart, we haven’t looked everywhere yet.” He added, hoping to soothe his agitated burglar.

Bilbo made an indistinct noise in response, turning away and beginning to head further up the path. The climb was a little steeper here, and Bilbo sank deep into the snow with every step.  He was barefoot, and the snow came half way up his shins. Thorin wasn’t sure how the halfling could bear it, wearing trousers that fell just below his knees.

“Are you not cold…? Perhaps we should have gotten some longer trousers made for you.” Thorin fretted, eyes fixed on the brunet’s pale legs. He _had_ to be cold, Thorin knew that the winters were much milder in the Shire. Both the weather and the terrain were more forgiving there.

Bilbo huffed softly, tucking his coat tighter around himself but not looking back at the dwarf behind him. “No. Hobbits don’t wear long trousers.” He said a little curtly, slipping both of his gloved hands into his pockets.

“Okay… Bilbo, is everything okay? You are acting very strange.” The king crooned, his brow furrowed deeply in concern. The hobbit had seemed a little off for a couple of days now, but he had gotten much worse after their brief discussion about his culture earlier that day. Thorin had to wonder if Bilbo’s sour mood was his own fault, since he was being quite short with the royal dwarf.

“It’s a hobbit thing, you wouldn’t understand.” Bilbo snapped, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Thorin eyed the hobbit’s soft pink mouth, wanting to lean over and kiss his One just so that he would stop biting himself. That would not be the best idea, however. Someone might see them – and more importantly, Bilbo might not appreciate the contact in his current mood.

“Maybe not, but I will try.” The eldest Durin promised, moving to walk beside his paramour. Bilbo frowned softly at him, opening his mouth to say something but pausing as something caught his eye. He moved to look around Thorin, expression lighting up when he saw what he had been looking for. He bound over to a very grey looking plant, skidding a little in the snow in his eagerness to reach it.

The hobbit didn’t even wait for Thorin to join him, falling onto his knees beside the plant and digging in the snow with just his hands. The dwarven king followed him closely, eyeing the shrub sceptically. It didn’t look very alive, and Thorin was about to say as much when Bilbo managed to pull the bush out of the icy ground with its roots intact. He cursed colourfully when he saw how shrivelled and dead-looking the roots were, throwing the plant away from his body in frustration and burying his face in his soil covered gloves. Thorin recoiled a little at hearing the gentle hobbit curse, becoming even more worried. He reached out to gently pry Bilbo’s hands off of his face, not wanting him to accidentally rub dirt in his eyes. He had never heard the small brunet swear before, so something was definitely very wrong.

“ _Bilbo_ , amrâlimê…” The greying dwarf consoled, still not sure why it meant so much to the halfling. It was just a plant. “Stop that.” He urged softly, removing the smaller male’s gloves and putting them in his own cloak-pocket. He used one thumb to gently wipe the muddy marks from Bilbo’s face, noticing the subtle shivers wracking the former burglar’s lithe frame. “ _Please_ tell me what’s wrong, Bilbo. I hate to see you like this.” He requested, cradling the other male’s face between his hands.

Bilbo raised his gaze to fix his tearful eyes on the dwarf’s, looking forlorn. He shook his head slowly, sniffing and ducking his head again. “I knew that living here would be… Completely different to what I am used to, but… I guess I didn’t realise how different.” He answered cryptically, confusing Thorin further.

“How do you mean…?” The royal dwarf pressed, wanting to understand. He didn’t want Bilbo to be unhappy, he wanted to help.

“…it doesn’t matter. We should go inside, there’s nothing here…” Bilbo muttered, pulling away from the king and tucking his hands inside his coat pockets. He turned away, padding back the way they had come without another word.

After that, Thorin barely got to see Bilbo all night. The hobbit retired to his room without dinner, claiming that he would eat something from his own kitchen since he wanted to be alone.

Thorin tried to see him before he went to bed, knocking on his beloved’s door to check if he was alright. He’d been by himself for hours, so the king had hoped that he was feeling better – but apparently not. Bilbo didn’t even answer, which Thorin hoped meant that he was asleep rather than just ignoring the door.

Why was his burglar acting so odd…? Thorin could not get his head around it. Bilbo had mentioned how different living in the mountain was, so did that mean that he did not like Erebor?

Sure, the hobbit hadn’t agreed to stay with him in the dwarven kingdom yet, but after their kiss… Thorin had foolishly assumed that Bilbo wouldn’t leave. That their feelings for each other would keep them together. Thorin didn’t want his One to be miserable, so if he really did wish to leave than he would have to let him. He didn’t want to, though.

The mountain only seemed like a home to him because Bilbo was in it. If Bilbo left, then… Then Thorin wasn’t sure what he would do. He had to find some way to make Bilbo feel less out-of-place, or risk losing him forever. There had to be something that he could do to make the brunet feel better.

Maybe getting him a plant would make him feel better? It seemed like it was important to the hobbit, even if it did seem a bit strange to Thorin. Hobbits liked their food and their gardens, Thorin knew that. Perhaps getting a plant so that he could carry out his ‘Yule’ traditions might make Bilbo feel more at home. This could all just be homesickness, and if that was the case then the king would do anything and everything that he could to make the hobbit more comfortable. Bilbo had been away from the Shire for more than a year, he was allowed to miss it.

Thorin knew what it was like to be homesick, after all. He had spent every day since the sacking of Erebor missing it – so it was a little strange to be back in the mountain, and still feel so very lost.

But _that_ was a problem for another time.

Thorin strode to Kili and Fili’s room purposefully, a plan already forming in his head. He knocked loudly on Kili’s door, knowing that both of his nephews would probably be in the same room. Their rooms were adjoining and they tended to spend the majority of their time together. Kili answered after a short few seconds, dressed in his sleep clothes but still looking wide awake. Thorin hadn’t woken him, at least.

“Uncle…?” Kili greeted uncertainly, looking confused to find his mother’s brother calling on him so late. Thorin could see Fili sat cross-legged in front of the fire, also dressed in just his sleep clothes. His hair was damp and loose down his back, like he had bathed recently and hadn’t gotten around to redoing his braids just yet.

“I am sorry to bother you both so late at night, but I find myself in need of some assistance… May I come in?” Thorin apologised sincerely, even though they hadn’t been asleep. It was still an unsociable hour to be calling on them, regardless of whether or not they had already been sleeping. “Is this a bad time?” He checked, glancing down the hall towards Bilbo’s room. He didn’t want the hobbit to come out and catch him – though that _was_ unlikely.

Kili’s eyes widened in surprise but he stepped aside to let the king in anyway, shooting a confused look at his brother and shrugging. “You can come in, sure… We were just talking.” He accepted, closing the door behind Thorin once he had come inside. “You need our help…?” He added questioningly, wondering what the eldest Durin could possibly need their help with.

“I do… You might have noticed that Bilbo was not at dinner this afternoon. Something is wrong, and I’m not quite sure what…” Thorin explained, feeling a little uncomfortable. He wasn’t a huge fan of admitting weakness and asking for help, but this was one of those times when it was necessary. He would do anything to keep Bilbo around. “I think that he might be missing the Shire. He was talking to Balin and I about a hobbit tradition earlier, and I think that may have been what put him in such a sour mood. He wanted to bring a plant into his rooms to protect it from the bad weather, since it’s some form of hobbit superstition about making sure that at least one plant survives the winter. I know it sounds odd, but I think that it means a lot to him. I took him out to look for something this afternoon, but we couldn’t find anything. That’s why I need your help.” He elaborated, nodding his head in thanks when Kili gestured for him to take a seat by the fire. The king sank down into the well-worn but comfortable looking armchair, pushing a hand through his own hair tiredly.

Fili frowned softly, picking up his already half empty chalice from the floor and taking a sip from it. “That’s… Odd. Hobbits _are_ odd creatures though, and if it means a lot to Bilbo then we are happy to help. We did notice his absence… We were talking about it earlier, actually. We thought that the two of you might have had a fight of some kind, since you looked so miserable. Do you think that he is homesick?” He mused, standing and walking to the side table. “Would you like a drink…? It’s wine.” He offered, refilling his own cup.

“Yes, thank you…” Thorin hummed gratefully, thinking that a good drink might help him sleep later. It was going to be weird, not having Bilbo in his bedroom for once. “And I do think that he is homesick, but I do not want him to leave us. I want him to be comfortable here.” He confirmed, ignoring the comment about Fili and Kili thinking that Thorin had fought with Bilbo. If it had been a fight, Thorin wouldn’t have to feel so clueless or helpless. He would know it was his fault.

Fili shot Thorin a disbelieving look from where he was pouring the drinks, handing one to Kili before giving the king his. He sat down with his own cup again, clearing his throat softly. “Leave _us_?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, challenging his uncle’s choice of words.

Thorin sighed deeply, taking a long and steadying swig of his drink. “Leave _me_.” He conceded quietly, knowing better than to argue with his stubborn nephews. He had grown up with their mother, after all, and she was probably twice as bad as they were. “He has not yet agreed to stay in Erebor, so… I want to convince him not to leave. I know it might be selfish of me, but I think that he could have a good life here. And our lives have gotten so much better since we have known him, the entire company adores him.”

“Not more than you do.” Kili insisted, rolling his eyes when Thorin offered him a mildly annoyed glare. “Alright, alright, we’re sorry. How can we help…? If there are no plants around the mountain, what can _we_ do?” He snorted, seeming amused by his uncle’s grumpiness. He was even _smiling_. The youngest Durin seemed to be in a much better mood ever since his conversation with Bilbo the other day, which did warm Thorin’s heart – even if it did mean that Kili was back to being a bit of a terror.

“Well…” The king breathed, seeming to deflate a little. Maybe his plan wasn’t the best idea – but it was worth a shot. “…I would actually like to ask Tauriel for her help.” He admitted quietly, glancing down at his hands. “And I need you to contact her, of course.”

He looked up abruptly when he heard a soft clatter, seeing that Kili had dropped his wine onto the floor. Fili cursed softly and stood, jogging to the kitchen in search of something to clean up the mess. Kili’s eyes were wide and he hadn’t even seemed to register that he had dropped his chalice. “ _You_ would like to ask… _Tauriel_ … For assistance?” He reiterated, flabbergasted.

“I would, yes. But only if you think that she would not mind… I know that there will still be plenty of plants alive in the Mirkwood, and Bilbo would take very good care of it. I only wished to ask her if there was a plant that we could have for him. I would go and get one myself, but I do not have the time and I doubt that Thranduil would take kindly to that. I can pay for the plant if necessary, but if I ask Thranduil directly I will never hear the end of it. Tauriel sounds like a very… _Reasonable_ elf, so I would much rather enlist her help if possible. If not… Then I suppose I will have to talk to Thranduil.” Thorin averred, looking abashed. He hadn’t expected such a stunned response from his nephew, and he felt a little silly for asking. He would be seeing Thranduil for another meeting in a week, so if he _had to_ he could ask for a favour from the Elven king – but he really didn’t want to. Thranduil would want to know why he wanted the plant, and then if Thorin _did_ tell him he would never let it go.

He was a smug prick like that.

Fili padded back into the room, kneeling down to mop up the spilled wine with an already stained looking cloth. “You would actually talk to Thranduil about it…?” He exacted, gesturing for Kili to sit. The brunet obeyed without complaining, though he was watching Fili clean up somewhat unhappily. He obviously didn’t like being looked after, even though it would have been harder for him to clean it up himself.

“I would, yes. I know that getting Bilbo a plant might seem like a small gesture, but if it helps…” Thorin sighed, chewing at his own bottom lip and shrugging softly. “…then I’ll do whatever I can. Even talk to that prissy weed-eater.”

Fili stood once he was done soaking up the wine with the cloth, fixing Kili with an odd look. Thorin watched as his nephews stared at each other, confused. They seemed to be communicating silently, going by the raised eyebrows and pointed blinks. Thorin had seen them ‘talk’ this way before, but it was still a sight to behold. He’d never seen two people more in tune with each other than Fili and Kili were.

“I’m seeing Tauriel tomorrow after breakfast. I’ll talk to her about it then, see if there’s anything that she can do. We’ll try keep Thranduil out of the loop, he doesn’t need another reason to wind you up.” Kili decided after a couple of minutes, taking Fili’s wine gratefully when the blond offered it to him.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” The king breathed, glad that the former archer had agreed without much argument. He was a little wary of the looks that Fili and Kili had exchanged, but he would ask about that some other time. The two of them had always been as thick as thieves, and he didn’t have time to worry about that at that moment. “Aren’t you supposed to be training tomorrow…?” He asked, knowing his nephews’ schedules fairly well. He was the one that organised the two of them half of the time.

“He sprained his wrist today, so Dwalin gave him the day off tomorrow.” Fili divulged, stepping to the side as Kili threw a pillow at him - so that it missed. The brunet made an indignant noise, clearly unhappy with his brother telling Thorin that he was hurt. It did explain why Fili was pottering around getting drinks and cleaning, though. Usually Kili would try to do it all himself, even with just the one hand.

Thorin turned to look at Kili, raising an eyebrow as he eyed the other dwarf with obvious concern. “You sprained your wrist…? How come I was not told? Oin is supposed to inform me whenever a member of the company is hurt.” He hummed, reaching out to try and take hold of Kili’s hand. He wanted to get a look at his wrist, but Kili withdrew the appendage with a scowl.

“…I didn’t see Oin about it. I don’t need Oin to tell me when I’ve got a sprain, I’m not some incompetent dwarfling. I know what happens if I put too much strain on a joint or land on it funny.” Kili huffed haughtily, looking away pointedly but cradling his wrist to his chest. “It’s nothing, anyway. I was using an old one-handed crossbow, and it wasn’t working right… Probably rusty, or damaged, I don’t know. Dwalin said he would take it to Gloin, so that he could have a look at it. But anyway, the recoil was much too strong and it turned my wrist the wrong way. It’ll be fine in a couple of days. It’s not broken or anything, just sore.” He excused, flexing his wrist a little bit to show that it wasn’t _too_ damaged. He wasn’t grimacing or looking too pained, so Thorin let it go. If the injury didn’t heal within a reasonable amount of time _then_ the king would ask Kili to see Oin, but he doubted that there would be a problem.

Thorin nodded in response, happy enough with his nephew’s explanation. “Alright. Just be careful with it, then. Try not to exert yourself unnecessarily.” He requested, finishing off his wine with one final swig and standing. “Thank you both for your hospitality – and your help. I would love to stay and talk, but I have one last thing to do before I retire for the night. Would you mind if I stopped by tomorrow evening, to ask what Tauriel said?” He checked, wanting an answer as soon as possible. If Tauriel couldn’t help he would have to figure out how to talk to Thranduil about it, and that would take some planning.

“Of course. Take care of yourself, Uncle.” Kili accepted easily, looking relieved that Thorin wasn’t going to question his injury any further. He didn’t like people fussing over him – he could barely tolerate letting Fili help. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t stay up too late!” Fili added jokingly, moving into the chair that Thorin had vacated and grinning toothily when the eldest Durin rolled his eyes.

Thorin managed to hide a fond smile as he turned away from the two of them, striding towards the door. “Make sure you both get some sleep. Kili might not have training tomorrow, but you do Fili. You know what Dwalin will do if you turn up hungover.” He pointed out, smiling more openly when he heard Fili groan behind him. “Goodnight.” He said in farewell before leaving, heading straight to his room. Once the door was shut and bolted behind him he moved to his desk, needing to write a letter before he went to bed himself.

He only knew one person capable of telling him more about hobbits and their traditions, but he wasn’t in the Mountain anymore. Thorin didn’t know where he was, but hopefully a Raven could find the elusive wizard for him. Gandalf might just be the key to solving Thorin’s problems, should his plant idea fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm really sorry that this chapter took so long, guys. I'm also sorry if this story-arc seems a little random, but it'll make more sense in the next couple of chapters. Since the beginning of this story I've wanted to explore the differences in Hobbit and Dwarven culture, which is what the next part of this story will be about. Everything with Thorin has kind of thrown everything into perspective for Bilbo and now he's _really_ realising just how different his life in Erebor will be, should he choose to stay.  
>  It's going to be a little weird for him, and weird for Thorin too of course. He doesn't know a single thing about Hobbit culture, other than how much they like food and gardening. He's hoping to change that and learn more, of course, but that's only if he can get in contact with Gandalf. We all know how reliable Gandalf is!
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! I quite enjoyed writing it, I like exploring the culture-side of things in this story. Basically nothing is known of what holidays dwarves celebrate, so I've got quite a bit of wiggle room. It's going to be fun! Obviously I adapted a bit on what we know of Yuletide, because the books don't actually say a great deal about it, but I feel like what I've written fits with what we do know of hobbit festivities.  
> Thank you guys so much for all of your kudos, bookmarks and comments. I appreciate every single one of them :)


	10. The Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this took so long! It's actually been ready for about a week and a half, but my laptop crapped out and I couldn't get on to post it. I hope you enjoy it!

Three days had passed since Bilbo had given up on finding a living plant, and he hadn’t said more than two words to Thorin.

He had never intended to avoid or ignore the king under the mountain, but he felt far too out of sorts to deal with the dwarven ruler at that moment in time. Every time he caught Thorin’s well-meaning gaze across the table at meal times he felt bad, though he couldn’t think of any way to explain what he was going through without sounding like a pathetic _mess_.

Which was why he didn’t plan on talking about it until he had gotten his thoughts in order.

He really needed to figure out what he was willing to give up to stay in the mountain, and whether or not it would all be worth it in the long run. He couldn’t make that decision with Thorin breathing down his neck – so tall and handsome and damn near irresistible.

Bilbo had been spending nearly every waking hour in the library, keeping himself busy and well away from the king. Thankfully the eldest Durin seemed to have been quite busy the last few days. Whenever he wasn’t in meetings, he was down in the forges - doing only Mahal knew what - so avoiding him wasn’t all that hard.

Things would have gotten complicated if the king had been trying to visit the library, but he hadn’t.

He had, however, been knocking on Bilbo’s door once a night every night so far, but he always left within a minute or so when he didn’t get a response from the hobbit. Bilbo knew that Thorin would say if it was important – but he couldn’t help feeling like a terrible person for neglecting the greying dwarf. He could be having nightmares again for all Bilbo knew.

“You look stressed today, Bilbo.” Ori pointed out as he approached Bilbo’s desk in the library, his tone not unkind. “Perhaps we should have a break, and some tea? I have a jar of Bombur’s famous honey, ginger and orange cookies – and they need eating.” He suggested, putting an armful of books down on a chair nearby. “Don’t make me do it alone, my ever-expanding waistband will not forgive you for it.” He said in jest, smiling warmly at the brunet.

Bilbo smiled softly back, glad to have been offered a distraction from his currently depressing thoughts. There were few things that hobbits like more than tea and a good biscuit, so there was really nothing to think about. Not to mention he had been kind of neglecting his friends for the last few days, wrapped up in his own little world. “That sounds fantastic, Ori. My father used to say that there was nothing a good cup of tea couldn’t cure. He was also very partial to a ginger biscuit, so he would turn in his grave if I turned you down.” He accepted, putting his quill and his ink pot away before rising from the squashy chair that he had _somehow_ managed to wedge in behind the desk.

Ten minutes later they both found themselves in the small staff room that was tucked behind the library, a pot of tea and two mismatched cups spread out between them. Seeing the odd set made him miss his own tea-set from back home – the one with the belladonna plant detailing that his grandmother had once had commissioned for his mother. He had several different tea sets, but that one was his favourite.

“Are you okay, Bilbo…? Everyone has noticed that you’ve been very quiet these last few days. Dwalin told me that Thorin is really worried about you, and I am too.” Ori pressed gently, retrieving the cookie jar before sitting down opposite his best friend. He picked up the kettle, pouring them both a generous amount of tea before beginning to add sugar and cream to his own cup. “If you don’t want to talk about it then that’s okay, but I am here, alright…?”

Bilbo smiled fondly at the knitwear-obsessed dwarf, picking up his spoon and preparing his tea just the way he liked it. It was a relatively plain tea, so he would be having plenty of sugar and plenty of cream. He wasn’t a huge fan of black tea. “Thank you, Ori… I appreciate it, but it’s alright. This is something I’ve got to figure out myself, I’m afraid. I will let you know if that changes, though.” He insisted, appreciating the sentiment but not really wanting to talk about it. Ori was a dwarf, and Bilbo doubted that he would understand. Not to mention he was biased, because he also wanted Bilbo to stay. The former burglar would just have to think it through himself.

“Okay, so long as you understand that I’m here if you need me.” Ori repeated, just to make sure that Bilbo knew. He’d hate for the hobbit to feel like he had no one to turn to – he had plenty of friends in the mountain, and one dwarf who wanted to be _more_ than his friend. “As it happens, I actually had something else that I wanted to discuss with you anyway.” He added after a moment, picking up his cup and taking a small sip of tea. He made a pleased noise in his throat at the taste, glancing down into the crockery thoughtfully.

“Oh? Do tell.” Bilbo prompted when the dwarf opposite him made no further comment, fiddling awkwardly with his tea cup instead. Bilbo watched the slightly nervous way Ori toyed with his cup, wondering what had come over him. He’d been perfectly cheerful just a moment ago. “Ori? Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes, everything is _perfect,_ I mean…” Ori gushed, frowning softly at his own enthusiasm and clearing his throat pointedly. “Nothing is _wrong_ , exactly…” He rephrased, blushing all the way down his neck and chest. “…so, as you know… I’ve been having lunch with Dwalin once or twice a week… Just the two of us.” He tried to explain, raising a hand to scratch at his scalp. “And… And yesterday, he said that he would like to take me out of the mountain today, for something to eat… For dinner. And… And I don’t know, I could be misinterpreting, but… But I think it might be a date? I mean, eating lunch together sometimes is one thing, but going _out_ for _dinner_ …? Is that a date? It sounds like a date.” He rambled, talking far too fast and blushing even darker.

Luckily for him, Bilbo was a very good listener and also very used to people who spoke a bit too quick. Some hobbits were like that, and he often spoke too fast himself if he was panicking about something. “Well, it depends. How does he act when the two of you are alone…?” He asked, not wanting to make any assumptions without knowing the entire story. He knew Ori was very interested in Dwalin, it was painfully obvious, but was Dwalin interested in Ori? It was hard to tell in public, Dwalin could be very stoic at times and he wasn’t always the most approachable. He only ever seemed to open up with Balin and Thorin.

Ori sighed a little dreamily then, putting his cup down so that he could lean both of his elbows on the table and prop his head up in his hands. Bilbo could practically see the hearts in his eyes. “He’s _so_ sweet… He always asks about the library, and about my drawings… He even took interest in my knitting when I wore a particularly nice scarf to see him. He asked me to show him how to knit, and _Mahal_ is he useless with a pair of knitting needles, but he’s _trying_ …” He murmured, glancing towards the door to the staff room – in case anyone came looking for them and overheard something that they shouldn’t. “…he always wants to know about my day, and what I have planned… I try to ask him about his day and about his duties as a royal guard, but mostly he just wants to hear about me. He doesn’t like to talk about himself a lot, he just kind of sits with me and listens whilst I prattle on about this or that… Sometimes I wonder if he’s _actually_ listening, but then he just stares at me so intently and _smiles_ and-” The small ginger dwarf stopped mid-sentence, looking incredibly embarrassed and somewhat besotted.

Bilbo smiled kindly at his friend, reaching out to pat his arm. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you…?” He observed, snorting softly when Ori nodded and buried his face in his mittens.

“ _Mahal_ , I am – but Dori and Nori won’t have it… They don’t know a thing about it, but I know they won’t approve, and one time Nori almost caught the two of us having lunch back here so Dwalin had to hide behind a bookshelf and I just… I just don’t know how to handle it. I don’t even know if he’s interested in me like… Like _that_ … He could just be being friendly, you know?” Ori confessed, his voice high with worry as he picked up a biscuit and began to pick at it idly. “I think he gets lonely a lot, so he just seeks me out because he knows that I’ll let him sit with me – even when he doesn’t want to talk. Last time we had lunch he just kind of sat there quietly whilst I ate, listening to me whine about organising the religion aisle. I asked him how he was, but he just shook his head and asked me to explain what was so bad about the religion aisle in particular. I know he’s worried about Kili, and about Thorin too, but he never wants to discuss it… I mean, how can he be interested in me if he doesn’t want to talk to me-?”

“ _Ori_.” Bilbo interrupted softly, holding up a hand to stop him. “I think you’re worrying about nothing there. For the most part, Dwalin has two sides to his personality. Quiet and stoic, or loud and aggressive. I don’t think him being quiet is a bad thing, I just think that he doesn’t know how to express himself. The most active and excitable we ever see Dwalin is when there’s some kind of fight or danger around, and growing up on the road the way he did after Erebor fell… I think he learned to squash his feelings down rather than voice them, because everyone was suffering at the time and he probably felt like he had no right to complain.” He guessed, hoping to reassure his friend. “According to Thorin, Dwalin used to be a lot louder and a lot more boisterous when he was younger. A bit like Kili and Fili. But after the Battle of Azanulbizar, after they lost the king, Thorin’s father and Thorin’s brother all in one day… He was quieter. He didn’t talk as much, and he barely ever spoke to anyone who wasn’t Thorin or his brother. He started getting better again during the quest, probably out of excitement because we were finally reclaiming Erebor, but old habits die hard. I wouldn’t take it personally.” He explained, knowing that it made a lot of sense in his own head. Those were the conclusions he had come to after hearing Thorin talk about their youth, but he could still be wrong. He didn’t know everything that Dwalin had been through, after all. He’d almost been through as much as Thorin had. “If anything, I would take it as a very good sign that he wants to spend so much time with you. Sometimes Thorin and I will just sit together in companionable silence, just reading or doing paperwork… It’s nice. It’s a good way to destress.” He supplied, a little hesitant to use Thorin as an example – just because he was so unsure of where he stood with the king. You couldn’t ignore someone for several days and expect them to be okay with it, after all.

“So… So, you think he likes to see me when he’s stressed, because it helps to calm him down…?” Ori summarised, popping a piece of biscuit into his mouth and chewing on it with a thoughtful expression.

“Yes, exactly. He’s not a dwarf of many words, just give him some time. Maybe he’ll start talking a bit more after a while, let him ease into it. He’s never been a big conversationalist – or not as long as I’ve known him, anyway.” Bilbo accepted, though it wasn’t quite as simple as that. “You have to realise, Ori, that he’s seeking you out more than anyone else. He must really care about you, and not in a friendly way. Do you think he’d do the same for me, or Gloin, or any of his other friends…? He might for Thorin, but they’ve known each other for as long as either of them can probably remember. They are more like brothers than friends.” He pointed out, picking up a biscuit for himself and taking a large bite. He let out a hum of approval at the taste, nodding slightly. Bombur had outdone himself – again. He shouldn’t be surprised, really.

The round dwarf was a damned good cook.

Ori seemed to mull that over for a moment, finishing off his biscuit and taking a long sip of his drink before speaking again. “Thorin does the same to you… He talks to you more than anyone else – even more than Balin, I’d say.” He said, and it was obvious what he was trying to suggest.

The hobbit sighed deeply, putting his half-finished baked good down on his saucer. “Yes, he does.” He admitted reluctantly, not sure that he liked where the conversation was going. “But that’s a great deal more complicated. He is a king, and I am a hobbit.” He insisted, folding his arms across his chest and glancing to the door.

The bookish dwarf opened his mouth as though he was going to protest, then closed it again and looked away. “I’m sorry, Bilbo… I wasn’t trying to make a dig at you, or anything. I only meant that it’s obvious that he really cares about you, and I know you care about him too. I see the way you look at him. Like he hung the moon in the sky.” He consoled his friend after a long moment of silence, reaching across the table to clasp Bilbo’s shoulder and give it a squeeze. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course… I just don’t understand why the two of you can’t figure this out.”

“Neither do I.” Bilbo acknowledged quietly, exhaling loudly and picking up his tea cup with both hands. “But it’s like you said, _we_ need to figure this out. Thorin and I.” He asserted, taking a sip from his now lukewarm drink. “Hence why I’m staying away from him at the moment… I just need some space to think, and I think he does too. But I really don’t want to talk about this, Ori. I’ve spent enough time agonizing over it lately.”

“I’m sorry… I didn’t know why you were so out of sorts – I didn’t realise it had something to do with Thorin. I should have guessed, really, since you’ve been avoiding him… But it’s fine, we don’t have to talk about it.” Ori apologised, topping Bilbo’s tea up with some more hot water from the kettle by the fire. He topped up his own cup whilst he was at it, beginning to add sugar and cream again. “And in any case, I really do need your help with Dwalin. I mean… The way you put it makes it sounds like he’s into me too, and if that’s the case… Mahal, I’m so nervous just thinking about it. I’m seeing him tonight… What am I supposed to wear? Should I take anything with me…? Like a gift?” He pressed, changing the subject immediately. The change felt a little forced, but Bilbo was grateful none the less – and he believed Ori when he said he wanted help.

“Well, I can help you pick out something to wear, if you like? We should go to your room, see what we’re working with.” Bilbo offered, fiddling with the buttons of the cardigan Ori had gifted him. It was beautiful, green with a floral pattern around the bottom – it must have taken a lot of time and work, since Bilbo was sure that Ori must have made it himself. Who else in the mountain could _knit_?

“That would be _great_.” The young dwarf breathed, though he still looked somewhat troubled. “…but what about my brothers? They can’t know.” He confided, beginning to wring his hands with a fretful expression. “Dori would kill him… Neither of them would approve, but Dori in particular… He’s been chasing away potential suitors for years, he’s never let me have a love life. Nori thinks I should be allowed to be in a relationship if I like, but he’s still protective, and when he finds out I like _Dwalin_ … He won’t like it; I know he won’t. They’ll both say he’s using me, because he’s big and imposing and he couldn’t possibly like me for me-”

“Ori, stop. _Breathe_ , okay…? Right now, getting through tonight is more important than dealing with your brothers. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, if they catch you getting ready or leaving, tell them you’re seeing me. I’ve mostly been staying in my rooms lately, so it’s not like they’ll see me around and know that you’re lying.” Bilbo cut across him, picking his biscuit up from his saucer and continuing to munch on it for a moment. “Once you’re sure that this is serious, we’ll figure out a way to handle Dori and Nori, alright? There’s no need to worry about it now, is there…?” He persisted, grabbing another biscuit and dipping it in his cup of tea before eating it. He wasn’t sure that there was anything better than a good ginger biscuit and a cup of tea…

…except maybe Thorin, but he never had to worry about how much a ginger biscuit liked him – so maybe the biscuit was better after all.

“I guess you’re right, I just… I’m scared. I live with them, and if I’m honest I’m surprised they haven’t noticed how many times I miss lunch in the food hall to go eat with Dwalin. They probably just think that I’ve gotten lost in a book or something, but I thought they would at least be suspicious by now.” Ori conceded, downing the rest of his tea in a few nervous gulps. “I have… I have something I can give to him, actually… As a gift. I’ve been working on some large fingerless gloves for him… I can finish them whilst we’re in my room choosing an outfit, since there’s not an awful lot left to do.” He realised, glancing down at his own gloved and sighing softly. “He’ll probably think they’re silly, but even Dwalin must get cold hands, right…? It’s winter, they’ll be useful.”

“That sounds wonderful, Ori. I’m sure he’ll love the gloves – you did say he was interested in your knitting, after all. Now, let’s head on over to your rooms… And take these biscuits with us, of course.” Bilbo hummed, offering the nervous dwarf a kind smile and standing. He left the rest of his tea but picked up the jar of biscuits, tucking it under his arm. He held his other hand out in an offering to help Ori up, eager to help his ginger friend.

He might not be so sure of pursuing Thorin right now, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t help Ori pursue Dwalin.

Ori took his hand with a nervous smile, and the two of them left the library together. Their work could wait for one evening.

-

Bilbo was walking to breakfast the next morning when he bumped into somebody unexpected. Tauriel placed both of her slender hands on his shoulders to steady him when he walked headlong into her, letting go once she was sure that he was steady and smiling kindly down at him.

Bilbo just stared at her for a moment, surprised to see her walking around inside of the mountain. She didn’t often come inside, since she and Kili tended to meet elsewhere and go for walks together. She probably felt like she wasn’t very welcome in Erebor, which was ridiculous. She had helped save Kili’s life, after all. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Tauriel, I didn’t see you there!” He apologised when he came back to his senses, smiling slightly back at her. She was nice enough, and Kili was very fond of her, so she was alright in Bilbo’s eyes. “Mahal knows how, when you’re so much taller than everyone else here.” He added in jest, smoothing his jacket with both hands. “Are you in the mountain on business…? I feel like I barely ever see you.” He hummed, glancing around quickly to see if there were any other elves around. He hoped that there weren’t, just because he knew that the food hall would be full of sour-faces if there was a meeting with the Mirkwood elves that day.

“It’s quite alright, Master Baggins. Our collision was my fault as much as it was yours!” Tauriel dismissed easily, clasping her hands behind her back. She turned to look back the way she came, like she too was making sure that no one was around. “And I am not here on business, no. I would love to stay and talk, but I am afraid that I need to be elsewhere. I will be around tomorrow evening however, should you like to talk then.” She excused herself, and something about the way she seemed so eager to leave made him suspicious. Like she was hiding something. “Na lû e-govaned vîn.” She crooned with a dip of her head, turning and gliding away without waiting for a response.

Bilbo watched her go for a long moment, brows furrowed as she disappeared around a corner. The hobbit continued towards the food hall, pausing in the doorway when he spotted Thorin. The king was stood with his back to the brunet, having not yet noticed his presence.

The hobbit considered turning around and leaving again before Thorin noticed him, but he wanted to see how things had gone with Ori and Dwalin the night before. He wanted to see how they were acting around each other in public, but he would talk to Ori in private too – once they got to the library later. The two of them had managed to pick out a very nice outfit for Ori’s ‘date’, and the gloves that the ginger dwarf had made Dwalin had been very impressive. Bilbo hoped things had gone well between them, they both deserved happiness.

“Has anybody seen Bilbo today…?” The king asked the members of the company already at the table, carrying something in front of him that Bilbo could not see from where he stood. There was also a hefty looking, paper-wrapped parcel tucked under one of his arms, neatly tied up with brown string.

Bofur shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of porridge before answering verbally. “No, he’s not been down yet… What’s that?” He asked, nodding to whatever Thorin was holding in front of him. “Didn’t know that you had a green thumb… Unless that’s for Bilbo?”

“It is… I would explain, but I want to give it to him before he disappears into the depths of the library for the rest of the day-” The dwarven ruler confirmed, stopping mid-sentence when he turned his head to check behind him and saw Bilbo standing in the doorway. “-Bilbo, good morning.” He greeted uncertainly, smiling and looking a little embarrassed.

Bilbo nodded cautiously in acknowledgment, padding further into the room. Thorin turned all of the way around so that he was facing the hobbit, and Bilbo finally got to see what he was holding in front of him.

It was a plant. Some kind of shrub that the brunet had never seen before, though he could smell it once he was standing a few feet from the king. The smell was subtle but sweet, and Bilbo found himself moving closer to get a better look. The leaves were dark green and waxy looking, and the plant was flowering in spite of the cold weather. The flowers were small and the petals were thin, white in colour and completely healthy. It was beautiful.

“…what’s this?” He inquired, reaching out to very delicately brush his fingertips over one dainty leaf.

Thorin glanced back towards the company, turning a little pink when he realised that they were all watching but returning his gaze to Bilbo regardless. “Tauriel called it a ‘sweet-box’. She’s written some details down on a piece of parchment for you, which is tied to the pot. After we couldn’t find a plant on the slopes of the mountain, I asked her if she could find a plant somewhere. I might not understand why this is important to you, but you seem homesick so I thought… I thought maybe having your own plant, and taking part in your hobbit customs might make you feel better.” He explained, shifting the pot in his grasp so that he was holding it with just one arm and could hand Bilbo the paper package from under his other arm. “I also made these for you… I hope you like them.” He added, chewing softly at his bottom lip.

Bilbo blinked hard in confusion, taking the package and frowning at how heavy it was. It clinked softly in his grasp, sounding like it might be made of metal. His heart was aching softly from discovering that Thorin had gotten a _plant_ for him, and it was good enough of the king just to _ask an elf_ to find it for him but it sounded as though he had also made Bilbo a gift himself. That had to be why he had been spending so much time in the forges lately, what other reason would Thorin have to partake in manual labour? He was king, he didn’t _have_ to. The halfling pulled the string from the present, letting the paper fall open in his hands to reveal a hobbit-sized set of gardening tools. A small set of pruners, a trowel and a fork. They were very well made, with wooden handles that were decorated with beautiful etchings of flowers and runes. “Oh… _Mahal_ … Thorin, these are… They’re beautiful…” He breathed, feeling completely overwhelmed. His chest felt tight with emotion and he cleared his throat gingerly, fighting back tears. Bilbo doubted that Thorin had ever had to make gardening tools before, but he had still done it for him. It was so incredibly thoughtful, and Bilbo felt like a complete arse for ignoring him over the last few days. “…what do they say?” He asked, raising a hand to touch the detailed looking runes. They sparkled a little in the light, like something else had been set into the wood to make the runes and flowers look more distinct. He couldn’t tell what, though.

“It’s your name in Khuzdul.” Thorin shared, smiling kindly. He turned to put the potted plant down on the table behind him, since it was heavy and he had been holding it for a while. He took the tools out of Bilbo’s shaking hands, turning them over to show the hobbit the way the decorations went the whole way around the handles. “I probably could have bought the tools in Dale if I had wanted to, gotten some Man to make them… But I wanted to personalise them, and there is no race in Middle-Earth better at working with metal than us dwarves. It would take a lot to break these.” He elaborated, putting the tools down beside the potted plant. “Do you like them…?”

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer before closing it again, raising one hand to rub at his face weakly. He tried to put into words just how much it meant to him that Thorin had gone through so much trouble for him, but he was quite literally speechless. After a moment or two of floundering, and seeing Thorin’s expression go from pleased and embarrassed to deeply concerned, he reached out with both hands and grabbed the king by his coat. He pulled the dark-haired dwarf down for a kiss, completely forgetting that they weren’t alone as he stood up on his toes to push himself into the other male’s body.

Thorin went still for a long moment, and for a frightening few seconds Bilbo thought he might pull away, but instead he melted into the kiss – looping an arm around the hobbit’s waist and bowing his head willingly so that Bilbo could reach his mouth easier. His hesitation must have only been shock from being kissed so suddenly, since he began to crowd Bilbo just as eagerly. His mouth was hot and wet and inviting, tasting like the sweet porridge he must have eaten earlier in the morning. The hobbit grunted quietly, raising his hands to entwine his fingers in Thorin’s hair.

Bilbo felt his cheeks heat up when somebody cleared their throat from nearby, leading him to break away and peek around his dwarf at the company behind him. Every single set of eyes in the food-hall were turned towards them, and Bilbo was sure that he heard Dain _whoop_ enthusiastically from another table.

Bofur was frowning deeply at them, one eyebrow raised comically high. “And when did you two stop dancing around each other like a couple of fools…?” He questioned, though he didn’t really look all that surprised. “I know a first kiss when I see one, and that was not a first kiss. Too much tongue.” He observed, putting his spoon down in his bowl and glancing between them both with narrowed eyes.

Thorin glanced down at Bilbo, who was attempting to hide his face in the material of the king’s tunic, and smiled softly. His own face was a little red, though he looked completely unashamed. “Just less than a week ago, I suppose.” He admitted, rubbing a hand up and down the hobbit’s back reassuringly.

“Well, why didn’t you say anything, lad?? We thought the two of you’d been in some kind of fight!” Balin said, sounding completely exasperated. He shook his head to himself, cutting pieces off of an apple with a small knife and popping them straight into his mouth from the blade. “We had no idea that the two of you were an item.” He remarked after swallowing a mouthful of the crunchy fruit, his expression bemused.

“Oh, well… I… I wasn’t sure how hobbits went about courting, and I hadn’t found the right moment to ask… I didn’t want to tell anyone before I knew if Bilbo and I were on the same page. I was trying to be respectful.” Thorin confessed, shrugging one shoulder awkwardly. “I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by being too forward, or by talking to any of you about it.”

Bilbo pulled out of the greying dwarf’s grip and stared up at him with his brows furrowed, feeling both delighted and frustrated at the same time. There he had been, worrying that Thorin had changed his mind because he was being so coy, when the infuriating dwarven ruler had in fact just been trying to respect his boundaries. He had also thought that Thorin wouldn’t understand his sadness over losing touch with his hobbit traditions, when the dwarf had been doing everything he could to make Bilbo feel more at home… It was maddening. They had been miscommunicating the entire time.

“Bilbo…?” Thorin pressed, noticing the hobbit looking at him strangely.

Bilbo shook his head minutely in response, shushing the dwarf and leaning up for another kiss – this time more chaste, since they were not alone. “You… _Foolish_ dwarf. I thought that you’d changed your mind about me, when you began keeping your distance… I thought you were hiding our relationship because you were ashamed. We hobbits… We court very openly. We express affection publicly as well as privately. I honestly thought that you’d lost interest, or that you had realised that you’d made a mistake.” He gushed in an undertone, talking quietly now so that the majority of the dwarves watching them couldn’t hear their conversation. “When all you would do was kiss my cheek, or peck me briefly on the mouth… I thought that you didn’t want anything more than that.”

“You thought that I had changed my mind…? _Bilbo_ … Perhaps we should discuss this in private. It seems as though we have been misunderstanding each other, and I should like to put that straight.” Thorin murmured back just as softly, reaching out to place a large warm hand over one of the halfling’s cheeks.

“Yes, you’re right… Okay, well, shall we take my plant and tools to my room…? We can talk over some tea, in my chambers.” Bilbo suggested a little breathily, thinking that it was a good idea to move elsewhere. He was thrilled to hear that Thorin hadn’t lost interest in him, but they still had much to discuss. They should have spoken about it days ago; it was long overdue. But then again, Thorin was a very busy dwarf… He was king, after all. “Oh, you’ve probably got a busy day ahead of you, haven’t you…? This can wait. We can talk later… Maybe you can come to my rooms after dinner?” He amended, realising his mistake. Thorin couldn’t just drop everything for him, he had responsibilities.

“No, I want to talk now.” Thorin hummed, brushing his thumb along Bilbo’s cheekbone. He dropped his hand away and turned back to the table. He picked up the plant pot again, clearing his throat and moving to stand in front of his trusted advisor. “Balin-”

“Go. Don’t worry about it, lad. Fili and I can handle your meeting with Dain, I can pass on anything your cousin has to say.” Balin accepted without even needing to be asked, putting his apple down to make a shooing motion at his king. Thorin looked like he was going to protest, so Balin sighed and rolled his eyes. “Thorin, you know Fili can handle it. Not to mention it’s good experience for him. And it is only Dain, anyway. What’s the worst that could happen? No one can offend _Dain_ , he’s not going to declare war on us if Fili doesn’t tell him what he wants to hear.” He pointed out, picking up his food again. “I believe Kili went to catch up with Tauriel before she left, and Fili followed. I can track him down, we’ll be fine. Kili’s heading down to the forges with Gloin today anyway, to discuss what kind of prosthetic he wants. Fili would only be training by himself if I didn’t take him with me, and we all know what that means – napping, rather than actually practicing.”

The dwarven ruler nodded slowly, knowing that Balin was right. Fili was a smart kid; he could handle a meeting with Dain. It wasn’t like Thorin’s cousin was hard work, even if he could be quite stubborn. He was amiable enough most of the time. “Alright. I will be somewhere in the Royal Wing if anyone needs me – but please don’t interrupt unless it’s important.” He broadcasted, looking up and down the entire table as he spoke. He hoped that no one would disturb them, since he really did need some time alone with Bilbo.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Dwalin rumbled, before adding something under his breath that made Bifur bark out a laugh and swat his arm.

Thorin raised his eyebrow, about to ask what the tattooed warrior had said before thinking better of it. It had probably been somewhat inappropriate, going by Bifur’s reaction. The king narrowed his eyes at his friend before turning away, nodding at Bilbo to lead the way. The hobbit scooped up his gardening tools in his arms, shooting one last look at the other dwarves before padding out of the food hall.

The two of them made their way to the royal wing in silence, both feeling a little embarrassed and awkward. Bilbo kind of wished that he hadn’t kissed Thorin in front of everyone in the hall, just because he wasn’t sure how Dain’s people would take it, but it was done now. Thorin didn’t seem angry with him, and he hadn’t looked ashamed in the food hall, so maybe Bilbo didn’t need to worry. Thorin certainly didn’t seem concerned.

It was just hard to believe that dwarves weren’t really all that bothered by sexuality. He had grown up used to the way hobbits treated homosexuality - if Bilbo had kissed Thorin like that in front of a large group of hobbits he would have been the talk of the Shire for _months_. The queer Baggins, they would call him. No one would want to be seen with him anymore, lest they get dragged down too. As though homosexuality was contagious. He would lose all of his friends, and what little family he still cared about… His parents would never have abandoned him for it, they had known about his sexuality for years before either of them had died, but everyone else would.

Which begged the question, why was he even so conflicted about leaving the Shire behind? He couldn’t be with Thorin if he left, and it wouldn’t even be acceptable for him to be with any other male either. Why would he want that? Why would he want to hide who he really was, now that he knew there was another option? He would probably be shunned just for leaving on an adventure the way he had, since hobbits didn’t even approve of _that_.

“…amrâlimê?” Thorin encouraged, stood close behind the hobbit. Bilbo blinked hard, realising that he had been standing in front of his own door for a solid minute without moving to open it. He cleared his throat softly, turning to offer the king a hesitant smile over his shoulder before unlocking the door and stepping inside.

Bilbo glanced around for a suitable place to put the plant and tools, settling on the corner closest to his seating area but far enough from the fire that the plant wouldn’t be at risk. “Just set the pot down there.” He requested, gesturing to the spot in question with one hand as he set the tools down on the nearest side-table. “I’m going to get started on that tea, make yourself comfortable.” He said, padding through to his little kitchen and pausing for a moment just to breathe deeply. He knew he was being ridiculous; staying in Erebor didn’t need to be a hard decision. There were far more reasons to stay than there were to leave, and it was obvious that Thorin cared about him _so much_ …

Maybe it would be easier to make a decision once he knew exactly what Thorin wanted from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These guys just need to kiss and make up! Seriously, Bilbo is making this so much harder than it needs to be. Overthinking everything is kind of his Achilles heel!  
> This was our first real bit of Dwori, but don't worry - this story is still Bagginshield. Other couples will feature where appropriate, of course, and eventually we'll uncover Fili's issues too, but all in good time!  
> Tauriel said 'until next we meet' to Bilbo, in case anyone was wondering!  
> Also, for anyone who's interested, the plant Thorin has given to Bilbo is a sarcococca confusa. Very pretty plant, and it does well in winter so I thought it was appropriate. It probably wouldn't grow naturally in Erebor's climate, but Tauriel is an elf so she could have gotten it anywhere and it is a fantasy story so I'm not really concerned about that anyway. We don't read fantasy for the realism! ^_^
> 
> As always, thank you all for your kind comments and kudos! It means the world to me that people are actually enjoying this. I've almost given up on it once or twice, because it's nowhere near as popular as my other fic, but so long as you guys still like it I'll keep on writing it! I enjoy writing it either way :)


	11. Heart to Heart

Thorin couldn’t quite believe how stupid he had been. He had been withholding his affection out of fear of overwhelming Bilbo, and in doing so had made the hobbit think that he wasn’t interested anymore.

He should have spoken to him sooner, should have tracked him down in the library rather than leaving him to his own devices…

The dark-haired king watched from the door as his hobbit busied himself with preparing their tea, filling an iron kettle with fresh water and hanging it over the kitchen fire. He left the kettle to boil, moving around the room to collect his favourite tea set and a tray to put it all on. He was struggling to reach for a delicate green tea pot on the top shelf when Thorin decided to step up behind him, reaching over him and pulling the pot down with ease.

“The top shelf might not have been the wisest place to put this, hm?” Thorin drawled as charmingly as he could, hoping to break the tension between them. Bilbo seemed a little unhappy, though that was understandable. It had been a difficult few days, and it could have been avoided if Thorin had just thought to make his feelings _clearer_...

Bilbo huffed in exasperation, his cheeks bright red with embarrassment. “I almost had it – and I have a foot stool for when I cannot reach, thank you _very_ much.” He groused, pointing to the stool where it sat waiting in a corner.

Thorin turned to look at the stool for a moment before raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. He had thought that he was being helpful, but he would leave the pot next time and only grab it if Bilbo asked him to. He supposed that he shouldn’t have assumed that the hobbit couldn’t manage by himself, though he had only meant to help.

Thorin shadowed the brunet as he moved around the small kitchen, watching as he retrieved everything they needed for their tea. Once Bilbo had finished he turned towards the dwarven ruler with his hands braced on his hips, his expression frustrated. “Are you just going to hover, or are you going to sit?” He scolded mildly, raising an eyebrow at the hairy male in front of him.

The dwarf frowned softly for a moment but obeyed, falling heavily into the closest chair and lacing his hands together in front of him on the table. “…are you mad at me?” He checked, genuinely concerned. “I did not mean to offend you, grabbing the tea-pot… I only meant to help.” He said, feeling like he needed to justify his actions. He didn’t want Bilbo to think he was rude or anything, he hadn’t meant to hurt the brunet’s feelings.

Bilbo huffed out a weary laugh, picking up the hot kettle with a thick cloth and pouring the water into the waiting tea pot. “No, I’m not mad, Thorin… I’m just… _Nervous_? I mean, I’ve spent the last few days thinking that you had lost interest in me, and wondering if you thought that I was silly for being upset over my _ludicrous_ hobbit traditions… I guess I’m just feeling a bit on edge, is all. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He clarified, returning the kettle to a cork mat on the kitchen side once it was empty. He took the seat opposite Thorin, drumming his fingers anxiously on the table-top. “I am sorry… You said you wanted to talk, so… _So_ , go ahead. The tea needs to steep for a moment, and you have my full attention.” He promised, picking up one of the empty tea cups and beginning to fiddle with it idly – just for something to do.

Thorin reached out and carefully took the tea cup from his hands, putting it back down on its saucer before settling his own hands over Bilbo’s. “Bilbo, my heart… This isn’t a trial. You needn’t look so… _Disturbed_.” He comforted, raising one of the hobbit’s hands to his mouth and kissing his knuckles affectionately. It made his chest hurt to see the smaller male looking so lost, and he didn’t want to be the reason that Bilbo looked that way. “If you would rather we not have this discussion now, then that’s fine. I am happy to just spend time with you, if that is all that you want. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He insisted sincerely, putting Bilbo’s hand back on the table and giving it a soft pat.

The brunet slowly raised his eyes to look Thorin in the face, and Thorin watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a soft swallow. Something seemed to soften in his big green eyes and he smiled hesitantly, lifting a hand to push his curly hair off of his face. “No, no… It’s okay, we should talk about this now. The sooner the better, right…?” He accepted, licking his bottom lip and sighing quietly. “You’re not making me uncomfortable, I promise.”

Thorin watched him for a moment, eying his face closely to be sure that he was telling the truth. Bilbo’s expression was sincere, even if he did still look nervous. Thorin could understand him being nervous – he was nervous too. How could he not be…? This was a big step for them. And Thorin knew he wasn’t the best when it came to communicating with people, so it wasn’t going to be easy.

“So long as you are sure.” He decided, clasping his hands together on the table and keeping his eyes locked on Bilbo’s. “I… I am not quite sure where to start.” He confessed after a long minute of silence, having not had time to prepare anything beforehand. Usually he liked to think through what he was going to say in advance – like he had done when he had first confessed his feelings to Bilbo. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been expecting to have this discussion; which was his own fault, really. He should have realised that they needed to discuss the ins and outs of their potential relationship, since it was bound to be complicated. They weren’t two regular males starting a simple courtship, they were a king and a gentle-hobbit. There were rules. Not strict ones, but _rules_ nonetheless.

Bilbo cleared his throat softly, raising one hand to rub at the skin under his silk neckerchief. Thorin’s eyes traced the movement, and he frowned minutely when he realised that the brunet was worrying his scar. It couldn’t possibly be hurting anymore, but it was obviously bothering him. “We should probably start with… With what you want. Am I going to be a… _Dalliance_? Or a partner?” The former burglar suggested, though he said the word ‘dalliance’ as though it disgusted him.

It disgusted Thorin too.

A _dalliance_?! Like Bilbo was going to be his dirty little secret? _Never_.

Thorin had no intention of _using_ the hobbit that way.

“When I first brought up my feelings several days ago, I told you that I would be yours, if you would have me. I meant that. I want to be yours and only yours – and I would like for you to be mine. Dwarves only ever have one love, and you are mine, Bilbo. I would never hide you, or ask you to be some… _Dirty_ secret of mine.” The dark-haired dwarf clarified, frowning deeply at the mere idea. “That’s not what I want.”

He wasn’t exactly sure when the last time a dwarven ruler had been in a same sex relationship was, but it didn’t matter to him. And it wouldn’t matter to most of his people, either. The only issue might be that Bilbo wasn’t a dwarf – but Balin wasn’t worried about it, so Thorin wasn’t going to worry about it. They would figure it out. “Someday, I would like for you to be my consort. Of course, I have no intention of… Rushing into things, but I do want you to know that I am serious about this. You are my One, and I will never want anyone else for as long as I live.” He announced, reaching out to take both of Bilbo’s hands in his – just to stop the hobbit from bothering his scar.

Bilbo stared back at him with wide eyes, inhaling sharply and not resisting when Thorin laced their fingers together. He looked completely shell-shocked, and the dwarven king began to worry that he had said something wrong. It had all been the truth, but perhaps it had been _too much_ …? He never did anything by half measures, so he wasn’t quite sure what to say. He had meant _every_ word; he wasn’t going to take any of it back.

“ _And_ … If you would not like to be my consort, then… Then I am sure we could try and reach some form of compromise. I know that… This probably seems scary, and sudden, _but_ … I want to be honest with you. I am in this for the long run, and in an ideal world I would want to marry you someday. Not any day soon, of course… I will not force you to do anything that you do not want to, I swear it before Mahal.” He amended, hoping that would be enough to appease Bilbo. He wouldn’t pretend that he didn’t want to get married, but he wouldn’t leave the hobbit if he was against the idea. He still loved him.

Bilbo cleared his throat hard, averting his eyes to where their hands were linked on the table. “… _well_ … I don’t suppose I have any right to be surprised… I mean, you’ve always been kind of… _Intense_.” He laughed nervously, avoiding the king’s eyes. Thorin opened his mouth to question what Bilbo meant by that – not sure whether or not he should be offended – but the brunet shook his head and cleared his throat again. “Neither of us are very young, and I didn’t _want_ some kind of casual relationship… I am fifty- _no_ , wait, fifty- _one_ …? Yes, fifty-one. By hobbit standards, I should have married about fifteen years ago.” He continued, releasing one of Thorin’s hands so that he could fiddle nervously with his hair. “And I… Would not be averse to marrying you, Thorin, it’s just a bit… _Soon_. I know you said we don’t have to rush into it, and I don’t think we should, but there is a lot we need to settle before there is any talk of marriage. I doubt most dwarves would approve of me being your consort, but even if that wasn’t an issue I think… There’s still a lot I need to learn. I know more about _elven_ culture than I do about dwarven culture.”

Thorin watched him as he played with the curly brown locks, noticing that the hobbit’s hair was getting a little long. He must not have cut it in a while, but the king liked that. It was probably long enough for a couple of short braids… And that thought made something pleasant stir in Thorin’s chest. He was immensely pleased that Bilbo wasn’t rejecting the idea of becoming consort, though the hobbit didn’t seem particularly… _Eager_. “Bilbo, it does not matter to me if anyone disapproves of you – but for the record, I don’t believe that anyone will. Balin and I have discussed this before, and he believes no one will disapprove once they hear how much you contributed to our quest. You’re a _hero_ , it doesn’t matter that you’re not a dwarf.” He hummed honestly, reaching out with one hand to gently grasp Bilbo’s chin and steer his face upwards – so that the hobbit had to meet his eyes. “As for the cultural differences… I would say that I know less about hobbits than you do about dwarves, but I am sure that we can learn from each other. You are handsome, polite _and_ diplomatic – you will be the perfect consort. I am certain of it. And I will try to be the best husband that I can possibly be. I will even partake in any hobbit courting customs that you wish… I will do _anything_ that you need.” He persisted, licking his lips and smiling softly.

Bilbo blushed all the way to the tips of his ears, and Thorin made a soft noise of appreciation at the sight. The hobbit looked so comely whenever he got embarrassed, which was surprisingly often. “Anything…?” Bilbo pressed, his pupils large as his eyes flickered down to the dwarf’s mouth.

Thorin leaned over the table to kiss his intended, drawn in by the sight of Bilbo’s pink face and wide eyes, one hand still resting on the smaller male’s chin. “Anything.” He confirmed a little breathlessly, smiling lopsidedly as he pulled back.

Bilbo cleared this throat quietly once more, smiling back fondly. “Well, you will be very pleased to hear that there aren’t really _any_ hobbit courting customs. We’re a very simple race, and if we like someone we might ask them to dance, or we might gift them some homemade baked goods… But there’s nothing official. We just… Make our intentions clear.” He reported, picking up the tea pot with both hands and pouring them each a generous measure of tea. The leaves had probably had a bit longer than they needed to steep, but Bilbo had never minded strong tea so it was hardly an issue. “A large, public dance would be thrown for the wedding, and sometimes there is an engagement party for family and friends… But that’s all. There are no rules. Courting goes as quickly or as slowly as the couple wants, though most marry within a year.” He shared, pushing one of the cups towards Thorin before beginning to spoon sugar into his own drink.

Thorin blinked hard in surprise, frowning thoughtfully as he regarded the brunet sat opposite him. “Really…? Then there are no chaperones? Or contracts?” He inquired, finding that odd. He knew that hobbits lived simpler lives than dwarves did, but they were just free to court whomever they wanted…? With _no_ limitations?

“ _Contracts_ …? Mahal, no. My father built my mother their home whilst they were engaged to impress her, but it wasn’t a _requirement_. You’re expected to amend your will when you marry, to include your husband or wife, but there’s no _contract_.” Bilbo snorted, looking incredulous. Like Thorin’s question was absurd. “As for chaperones… Young hobbits will do whatever they want. Even if they did have chaperones they’d find a way around it, so there’s not really much point. Do dwarves require chaperones then…? Mahal, will _we_?! I’m not sure how comfortable I am with someone shadowing us to make sure that nothing… _Intimate_ happens between us.” He huffed, both eyebrows raised and a soft frown gracing his features.

“Well, chaperones _are_ traditional, but are only really necessary for young couples – or royalty. I am a bit too old for a chaperone though, so no one will mind if we overlook _that_ particular custom.” Thorin allowed, beginning to add sugar and cream to his own tea. “…if hobbits do not care for chaperones, does that mean that… They may be… _Intimate_ outside of courtships?” He wondered, expression apprehensive all of a sudden. Had Bilbo already had intercourse with someone before…? Thorin wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with that. He took a small sip of his tea in an attempt to settle his stomach, feeling uneasy.

Bilbo looked relieved at Thorin saying that they would not need a chaperone, but his face fell again when the dwarf asked him about the bedroom habits of hobbits. “It is frowned upon, but it happens.” He breathed, suddenly becoming very interested in his drink.

The way he avoided Thorin’s eyes made the king feel _very_ unsettled, and he swallowed hard. “… _Bilbo_ …” He began hesitantly, pausing to bite his bottom lip unhappily. “…have you ever been intimate with anyone?” He asked, knowing that he had to find out. He wasn’t sure if he would like the answer, but he couldn’t _not_ ask. Dwarves only had one love, and they were incredibly loyal creatures. They were only ever supposed to have sex with the person they intended to marry. But Bilbo was a hobbit, and if he had slept with someone else… _Maybe_ Thorin could overlook it. He wasn’t bound by the same customs that dwarves were. It might bother the dwarven king that his One had been with somebody before him, but it wouldn’t change how much he loved him. So long as he was faithful to Thorin from then onwards, it didn’t need to be a problem.

The gentlemanly hobbit raised his cup and took a steadying swig, looking _deeply_ uncomfortable. “…I have never had _intercourse_ with another male.” He specified, shifting anxiously in his seat. “But… I won’t lie to you; I have… Had a couple of _small_ dalliances. I was much younger at the time – only just of age. It never went further than kissing and… And some touching. But nothing like that has happened in well over a decade. If I’m honest, no male in the Shire would have ever done more than that with me even if I had wanted them too. I came from a respectable family; it was much too risky.” He exposed, swilling the tea around the cup just for something to do with his hands.

Thorin exhaled heavily, a tired smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Is that all…? _Mahal_ , Bilbo, you had me worried!” He chuckled, taking the cup from Bilbo and putting it down on the table. He then climbed out of his chair, walking around to the hobbit and kneeling beside him. He reached out to cup the brunet’s cheeks between his hands and kissed each cheek in turn, hoping to soothe him. Bilbo was still _very_ red in the face. “Kissing, touching... That’s fine. I mean, _strictly_ speaking, it is frowned upon – but everyone has needs. In the eyes of Mahal, you enter a betrothal when you have _sex_ with someone. But… Dwarves get lonely too. Waiting for your One can be hard, not _everyone_ stays celibate in the meantime.” He said softly, beginning to stroke a thumb along his One’s cheekbone, his eyes crinkling handsomely at the corners.

“There are, _of course_ , exceptions to the rule...” Thorin added, knowing that some dwarves ignored their traditions in favour of pursuing more carnal activities. They were usually the kind of dwarves that never got married. “Some dwarves will have intercourse with no intention of marrying. I, however, have never had sex... I have always wanted to wait and see if I found my One. About a decade or two ago I came to the conclusion that I must not have anyone in this world... Since I had gotten so old without finding them. I thought that they may have died when Smaug attacked, without ever meeting me… But I also considered that maybe I just hadn't been blessed with one true partner. Then I met you...” He drawled, leaning up to kiss Bilbo’s forehead lovingly.

Bilbo flushed even darker, ducking his head out of the king’s grasp and looking incredibly flustered. “You _sweet-talker_ …” He murmured, gently knocking Thorin’s shoulder with his own. “Hobbits… They don’t believe in having one _perfect_ partner. Or at least most of them don’t. Some do believe in soulmates, which is similar I suppose, but I didn’t ever believe that either. I just never slept with anyone because… I wanted it to be _real_. I didn’t want it to be some meaningless one-time thing with someone who didn’t care about me. I could never have anything real in the Shire, because being gay was just too… Well, it _never_ happened. There were no queer couples in Hobbiton.” He imparted, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Come to think of it… My mother _always_ insisted that I had a soulmate. She was certain that I wouldn’t end up alone, even after she found out that I was gay. She always believed in that soft nonsense… But maybe it wasn’t nonsense after all.” He realised, smiling crookedly. “She and my father _were_ a perfect match, after all. Even with all of their faults.”

“The more I hear about your mother, the more I know I would have liked her a great deal.” Thorin noted, patting his One’s cheek dotingly. “She sounds like a very wise hobbit. I would have liked to meet her.”

Bilbo smiled wider, bobbing his head in a nod. “She was.” He concurred, leaning forwards to very gently bump their foreheads together – a very _dwarven_ gesture that made Thorin grin. “And she would have liked to meet you, too. I think she would have liked you a great deal. I _know_ she would have.”

The royal dwarf smiled warmly at that, brushing a lock of hair behind Bilbo’s ear for him. “I’m glad to hear it.” He hummed, rising to his feet and grabbing his chair – moving it closer to the hobbit’s before sitting once more. “I do find it odd that there are so few requirements in a hobbit courtship, but at least it makes things less complicated.” He said, returning to their previous topic. “I am sure a dance can be thrown – there is usually music and dancing at a dwarven wedding, especially a royal one. And a feast.”

“It’s as I said – we hobbits are a simple people. But queer hobbits don’t get married – they don’t even court openly. In all my years in the Shire, I never once heard of a queer couple. I heard pieces of gossip here and there, that this hobbit or that hobbit was a bit _odd_ , but no one ever came out in Hobbiton. If we had been living there, there would be no wedding. We would likely live in separate smials, and see each other in secret.” Bilbo explained, picking up his tea and taking a sip.

Thorin frowned softly, shifting closer and wrapping an arm around the brunet’s shoulders. “…that sounds _awful_.” He dictated, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t understand how anyone could live like that… And I’m sorry that you had to hide. I’ve never understood how people can frown upon such things.” He sighed, giving Bilbo a little squeeze in his arm.

Bilbo smiled fondly at him, turning to kiss his cheek. “It’s okay. There was no one right for me in the Shire anyway. Had I stayed, I would have lived out the rest of my life as that uncle or cousin that everyone thought was a bit mad – for being alone and childless.” He noted, putting the tea back down on its saucer once more.

“…then why did you want to go back?” The king asked softly, genuinely confused. He didn’t understand how anyone could _want_ that – in Erebor, Bilbo had friends who loved and accepted him. None of them would ever judge him for who he loved, and he could be open about who he truly was. He didn’t have to live in shame.

The hobbit’s smile slipped off of his face at that, and he exhaled softly. “It’s _complicated_.” He began, obviously unsure how to explain himself. Thorin watched him attentively, waiting for him to continue. Bilbo shifted awkwardly in his chair, glancing at the large dwarf before averting his eyes to his hands. “Don’t get me wrong – I’m in love with you. I _am_. And I have great friends here, it’s just… It’s a culture shock. I grew up in the rolling hills of the Shire, surrounded by grass and flowers and farm land. There was a market every morning, and everyone was polite – even if they were prone to gossip. People said hello to me, and they invited me to parties, even if they didn’t like me a great deal. It’s just… What I was used to. The parties, the food, the nature… The holidays. It’s all different here, and that’s very strange for me.” He elaborated, fiddling with his own fingers. He swallowed when Thorin placed a large hand over both of his, covering them easily and stilling his fidgeting. “My father built Bag End for my mother, and I was _born_ there. I’ve never lived anywhere else. These rooms are lovely, I really do like them, it’s just taking me some time to adjust.”

“I think I understand.” Thorin entreated, still watching the smaller male closely. It wasn’t quite the same, he knew that, but he had struggled with living in the Blue Mountains. “I grew up here, in Erebor. After Smaug drove us out, we were forced to settle in the Blue Mountains. I had a _good_ life there – I had lead our people there, I was ruling as the rightful king, and it was definitely better than our time on the road. Dís had married and given birth to both of the boys, but I just wasn’t _happy_. It didn’t feel right. It was still a mountain, but not my mountain. And I know it’s not the same, because I did move from one mountain to another – meaning it wasn’t quite as big a shock – but I was still homesick. The same as you.” He acknowledged, managing a small smile when Bilbo raised his eyes to look at him. “If you truly did wish to return to the Shire, Bilbo, I would let you. As I have said before, I would take you there myself. If that would make you happy, I would let you go.”

“You would?” Bilbo murmured, his eyes wide and unsure.

“I swear it before Mahal. I don’t want you to go, but I don’t want to make you miserable either.” Thorin promised, tilting his head so that he could rest his cheek against Bilbo’s hair. It pained him to say it, but it was _all_ true. They might have been speaking of courtship and marriage only a moment ago, but they still hadn’t addressed whether or not Bilbo was even staying. Thorin was getting ahead of himself, and he needed to take into account that the hobbit might still want to go. “And if you do stay… I will do everything in my power to make you comfortable. I will partake in any hobbit traditions that you see fit, any hobbit festivities… I am happy to do whatever it takes. Just _tell me_ what you need.” He said earnestly, pressing a kiss to the top of the hobbit’s head.

Bilbo raised a hand to cup Thorin’s jaw, steering his face down so that he could kiss him _hard_ on the mouth. Thorin shut his eyes, shifting into the kiss eagerly – the angle was a little awkward, but the kiss was warm and passionate and full of _want_. It made Thorin feel giddy, but sad too. There wouldn’t be many more kisses in his future if Bilbo _did_ go.

“ _That_ was what I needed.” Bilbo breathed as he broke away, their faces still impossibly close.

Thorin opened his eyes again and blinked a little stupidly, confused. “What…?” He drawled uncertainly, twisting in his chair so that he could face the hobbit easier.

Bilbo sighed quietly, still resting one hand on the king’s face. “I needed to know that you understood. And that you _cared_.” He exposed, leaning their foreheads together once more. “I mean… I’m not going to overcome homesickness overnight. I know that. But I don’t want to leave you behind – and it’s not like you could come with me. You’re a king, and this is _your_ home. Not to mention we couldn’t even be together if you did come to the Shire with me, so why would I want that? But today… You showed me that you cared. Getting that plant, making the tools… It was so _thoughtful_. You’re offering me a life here, and I want to accept it. I want to live here. It’s just going to take some getting used to. I’ll probably still get sad sometimes, and I’m sorry about that, but… I’m not going anywhere. I _promise_.” He finished, licking his lips dryly.

“ _Bilbo_ …” Thorin rumbled, moving both hands to cup either side of the hobbit’s face. He pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth, and then to each cheek too. “Amrâlimê…” He said in a whisper, looking overcome. “…Thank you. I swear, I will do everything I can to help you settle. And you don’t need to apologise to me – I know that Erebor is strange to you. I understand, I truly do, but you have friends here, and you have _me_ , and you are _so_ loved… I will be with you every step of the way. Whenever you are sad, or angry, or hurting… You won’t face any of it alone.” He swore, kissing him again on the mouth.

Now that he could hold and touch Bilbo, now that he knew he wasn’t overstepping any boundaries, he couldn’t get enough. He just wanted to shower the hobbit in kisses, to let him know just how loved and appreciated he was. He had wasted too much time tip-toeing around the brunet, for no good reason, and he wanted to make up for that.

Bilbo drew back with a slightly tearful smile, looking just as emotional as Thorin felt. “Thank you…” He mumbled, smiling wider when Thorin began to wipe the moisture from under his eyes with his thumb. “ _Honestly_ … I might be _feeling_ a little homesick, but I don’t actually _want_ to go back. Does that make sense…?” He checked, wrinkling his nose cutely and sniffling. “It’s just that things are so different here. I feel like a hobbit pretending to be a dwarf. But… I’m sure I can get used to it. And it’s like you said. I’ve got my friends, and I’ve got you. I’ve got everything I need here.”

“Well, you don’t have to pretend for us. Just because this isn’t the Shire doesn’t mean you can’t be a hobbit. You still wear your bright colours, and you’re going to help with Dale’s farms – that’s a start, is it not? I’m never going to ask you to change for us. And just think, when Dale’s farms _are_ planted – there will be _some_ greenery. And there’s room on your balcony for some plant pots, once the weather is nicer. There are ways you can hold onto your hobbit roots.” Thorin pointed out, kissing his forehead before releasing his face and smiling fondly. “Erebor might not be a hobbit-hole, but it can still be your home.”

“You’re right.” Bilbo chuffed, smiling warmer at the broad dwarf. “We will find a way.” He accepted, giving Thorin’s cheek a gentle pat. “Now, I think I am quite done being sad for today.” He decided, rising from his seat. “You made me miss breakfast and that is _unacceptable_ , Thorin Oakenshield.” He hummed, laughing when the dark-haired dwarf’s face _dropped_ – like he thought he was in trouble. “I am going to make myself some scones, to remedy the situation. Baking was always a favourite past time of mine in the Shire – would you like to help?” He asked, walking to the little pantry at the back of his kitchen.

Thorin chuckled, rising to his feet and following without argument. “Of course – I don’t think I’ve ever had your scones before.” He confessed, grinning when he heard a horrified gasp from inside the pantry.

“This will _not_ stand! We must rectify this, _immediately_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> Guess who's not dead! I am _so_ sorry it took me so long to come back to this. Honestly, I have no excuse. If I'm being honest, it simply came down to focusing on my other fic - because people like it better. But _I_ still like this fic, and I'm not done with it. I can't say how often it'll update, because I don't know, but I will try to update semi-regularly. More than once a year, at least! XD
> 
> As always, I do post about my progress on Sad-Little-Acorn.tumblr.com, so follow me there if you want to know when the next update is coming.  
> And if you have any comments or questions, you are welcome to put them here or in my inbox on tumblr.  
> Thanks for reading! <3


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